


Hill Manor

by Dragon_Dweller



Category: Henry Cavill - Fandom, Henry Cavill Alternate Universe
Genre: 1800s, 19th Century, Abusive Parents, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 19th Century, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Ancestors, Anger, Aristocracy, British Empire, Business, Businessmen, Character Death, Chester - Freeform, Child Neglect, Cold, Curses, Darkness, Dead People, Declarations Of Love, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, England - Freeform, F/M, Falling In Love, Family Drama, Family History, Family Issues, Family Secrets, Fear, Fluff, Ghosts, Haunted Houses, Haunting, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inspired by Crimson Peak (2015), Kal Cavill, Language, London, Loneliness, Love, Love at First Sight, McFayden, Medium - Freeform, Minor Character Death, Murder, Mystery, Nannies, One True Pairing, Original Character Death(s), Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Past Torture, Past Violence, Period Piece, Rich - Freeform, Scary, Servants, Smut, Spirits, St. Helier, Strict Parents, Torment, Torture, True Love, Tutoring, Victorian era, Wealth, apparitions - Freeform, betrothal, curse, elite, fast burn, ghost story, kal - Freeform, legacy, long chapters, manor, manors, mentions of animal abuse, new money, period, upper class
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:09:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 54,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25245184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragon_Dweller/pseuds/Dragon_Dweller
Summary: Your life has never been easy, despite being from one of the most wealthy British Families. Between your neglectful parents and your ability to see the ghosts haunting you. Your life gets harder, before it gets easier.But, you have Henry there for you.
Relationships: Henry Cavill/Reader, Henry Cavill/You, henry cavill x reader - Relationship, henry cavill x you - Relationship
Comments: 10
Kudos: 48





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by Crimson Peak! I've always wanted to write a Victorian Era piece and started doing just that, now its a Victorian Era Murder and Ghost Story xD

Ulysses Dante McFayden was vengeful in all things and parts of his life, from his multi-million dollar company to his family. His wife, Matilda was the near female copy of her husband, though she was capable of being warm and affectionate, when she wanted something, or thought it would benefit her and husband's financial situation. The McFayden's had been part of the British Upper Class Crust for centuries and only kept climbing that social ladder, higher and higher. They were always the talk of Woman's Tea Rooms and Gentleman's Clubs all across Britain, for some new successful business venture or setting a new fashion trend. But, the one place they never felt successful was in their only child, a disappointment for Ulysses for not being a boy and to Matilda, for not being more like her. Y/n McFayden was the spitting image of her gorgeous mother and had the strong willpower of her father, but that's where all the similarities of her parents ended.

You were sweet and attentive, deeply concerned with the welfare and happiness of those around you, human or animal alike. You once took a near dreadful beating from your father, when he caught you nursing a wounded baby duck in the overgrown garden greenhouse at the edge of the estate. You cried for a week, when you found your father had killed the poor thing. From the age of two, your parents relinquished their parental rights to a host of nannies and tutors, some as cold and feeling-less as themselves. One of your nannies, Grace, was the greatest and sweetest out of all of them, she was a much needed breath of fresh air and sunshine in the dark and oppressive expanse of McFayden Manor. Grace was the only one that cared about you, that loved you and gave you any kind of parental guidance, that understood.

Grace was also the only one that you trusted your darkest secret too. When you were seven, not long after she started as your nanny and living in the family house, you had what your parents and previous caretakers called your, hysterical terrors. You woke just after one am, a bolt of sweaty terror washing over your body, as you sat up in your bed. Despite the still warm fire in the grate of your spacious bedroom, you could see each puff of your breath, white like a wintry mist. Your heart starting to pound, goosebumps forming as you trembled, the bumps coming down the long hallway leading to your room, other than your room and Grace's room on the very other side of the hall, the rest of the floor was empty, or to everyone else, it was empty.

There was a thud just outside your door, then the sound of nails running down it. You squeezed your eyes shut and hoped to wake up before it came through the door and stood at the foot of your bed, like it always did. But, it wasn't to be. The cold of the room grew, frosting the window panes of your room as the apparition melded through the thick arched Mahogany door, making you shiver.

“Child.” It rasped, like nails on a chalkboard.

“Let me be.” You whimpered, drawing your legs up inside your nightie and pressed your palms to your ears, desperate to block it out. “You aren't real!”

“Realest anything in this manor.” It gripped back, floating several meters off the black cherry wood floor, at the foot of your bed; flowing, black and mostly translucent. “Other than you, my sweet.” It hissed, moving closer.

“What do you want?” You whined, looking up at it and squeezed your eyes shut again.

“You.” It moaned, hovering above you, a transplant and skeletal finger following the curve of your cheek, freezing your skin like ice. “Lily Hill Manor. That is where you belong, where your curse will be its strongest and most fruitful.” It rumbled so close to your ear, its wispy hair caressing your face. “Only you can protect it from its fate. From his legacy.”

A terrible clicking and knocking sound came from it, its bony hand grazing your neck. A jolt of electricity raced through your spine, a scream ripped from your vocal cords, springing up and bounded for the door, yanking it open and rushed down the hallway for Grace's room. The spirit watched and dissolved away, just as Grace's door flew open at your frantic banging.

“Y/n, what is it?” Grace frowned, tying her robes closed and looking down at your wet and terrified face.

“There's a spirit in-in my room.” You panted, pointing behind you to your room.

Grace looked to your room, open and empty, then back down at you. “It's all right.” She said softly, resting her hands on your shoulders and hugging you against her.

“It was there, I swear.” You sobbed into her robe.

“I believe you.” Grace replied, patting you on the back, she'd never known you to lie and you were vastly too upset not to be believed, perhaps it was just a dream.

Either way, Grace believed you, when you told her about seeing it, and every one after that night. It broke your heart, when you were twelve years old and Grace fell in love with a local doctor and married him, ending her occupation as your nanny. Even though she moved away, Grace made sure to come and visit you as much as she could, knowing how lonely you were in the house, with cold parents.

At age sixteen, you no longer had nannies or tutors, you were the unwilling, for both yourself and your parents, added piece to the social gatherings and dinner parties your parents regularly threw at the manor. Your father's strict threats of never opening your mouth, unless expressly and specifically addressed, with your mother's cold and unblinking glares across the room or the table, to enforce your father's words, like they were law. In essence, they were law, with the amount of money and power he had behind his words and actions. Your life felt so lonesome, imprisoned in McFayden Manor day in and day out, the only breath of fresh air for you was the daily walks you took around the magnificent gardens on the grounds, you spent as much time out in the garden as you could, unable to endure the dark and suffocating house, all five floors, basement and attic. The estate and manor had been in your father's family for the last six generations, built by your seven times great-grandfather, after his first major and successful business venture. Your father was conceived, born and raised in the house, he never lived anywhere else, until he had the country home built, in Suffolk; which you had only been to once or twice, your parents leaving you at the Manor, on your own, with the butler and cook. Not that you cared, the place seemed cheerier without them, darkening the hallways and rooms.

“I swear, y/n.” Your mother hissed, looking you over as you gripped the post of your bed, your lady's maid tightening the laces of your corset. “If you ruin this night for your father and I, you will truly regret being born.”

“Like, you do.” You mumbled to yourself, groaning as the whale bone ribs of your corset cut into your skin.

“What was that?” Matilda snapped, looking down her nose at you.

“Nothing, Mother.” You chimed back with a forced smile.

“I thought not.” She hissed, lifting a sculpted brow at you. “This is a very important night for your father. He has several of his business partners, investors and prospective partners coming to this dinner tonight. It could turn out to be an expensive gain, or loss, depending on how it goes.” She pinched your chin between her thumb and forefinger, forcing you to look at her. “Don't ruin it.” She growled at you, sternly.

“Of course not, Mother.” You told her, meekly, staring into her moss-green eyes. “I will be on my utmost behavior, I assure you and Father.”

“Good.” Matilda huffed, letting your chin go, roughly. “Though, you couldn't disappoint us more than you already have.” She commented over her shoulder, leaving your bedroom.

You closed your eyes softly, listening to the click of her heels fade down your hall. Collecting yourself, you allowed your Lady's Maid to finish helping you dress for the party, then patiently waited for your mother to return to your room, knowing better than to go down on your own, even though from the window seat of your room, you could see the carriages coming and going along the lane leading up to the front of the manor, people of only the best stations, families and companies were given the coveted and expensive invitations your father sent out to the wealthy elite. You had seen all of their faces before, the only time a face disappeared or changed was, if someone died and their heir took their place, or they fell from the Upper Class Crust and were no longer deemed worthy of the honor to attend a Ulysses and Matilda McFayden party. You flicked through the pages of a book, _Dracula_ , and continued to wait, stifling a yawn against the back of your hand, then heard the tell-tale taps of her heels and put the book aside, stood and smoothed down the skirt of your dress; heaven's forbid you had a wrinkle in the expensive fabric.

“Come along, girl.” Matilda called from your door, mouth pinched into a fine line as she regarded you.

“Coming, Mother.” You replied, following along after her and mounting the stairs down to the formal dinning room on the main floor.

The front hall, foyer, formal dinner room, study and library were brimming with people. You followed your mother to the library, taking your place beside her as she entertained the people in that room. You scanned the room, seeing if there were any changes to the attendees from the last party your parents had two weeks before. There was the Christopher's, the Gladstone's, and the Morris's, though Mrs. Morris looked worse then she had at the garden party. Movement at the door to the library caught your attention and you glanced in that direction, blinking several times seeing someone standing there, the butler taking their coat. They were new to the Manor, you had never seen this man before, and judging by the almost lost expression on his handsome face, he had never been to the Manor before either. He was incredibly tall and broad shouldered, looking immaculate in his finely tailored suit, his chocolate brown curls shining in the candle lit hallway. He felt your eyes on him, turning his baby blues towards you and smiled, revealing straight and pearly whites, raising a warm flush to your cheeks and you glanced away from him.

“Is that him?” You heard a low voice whisper to your mother, Ms. Whitlock.

“Yes.” Your mother nodded, covertly glancing at him, as he entered the room. “Mr. Henry Cavill.” She confirmed, watching Henry greet one of the men he knew. “He owns Cavill Enterprises. His father started the company, when he was just a lad. Rumor has it, his grandfather was a poor farmer.” She explained, turning her attention to Ms. Whitlock.

“How did he amass a company for so much money, if he's the grandson of a farmer?” Ms. Whitlock frowned at Matilda.

“I heard from Mrs. Grahams, his father worked his way up through the stations of a local shipping company, until he was the owner of it, then used his shares to start and invest in his own company, passing the shipping company off to his oldest son, Piers, then turned over Cavill Enterprises to his second youngest son, Henry; when he retired. His other sons, Nik, Simon and the youngest, Charlie, all work for one of the two companies.”

“Well, if his brothers are single, and as handsome, as he is.” Ms. Whitlock giggled, blushing at Henry's back. “Then, sign me up.”

“Oh, hush.” Matilda giggled back, playfully smacking her on the arm.

You repressed your frown at her, feeling that spot of jealousy in your stomach, wishing you had the relationship with your mother, like Leah Whitlock did. There was the high and clear sound of a bell and the Head Butler, Carlo, stepped into the room, announcing dinner. The guests funneled into the dining room and took their assigned places at the table. The room was a murmur with talk, the clink and ring of silverware and fine china, compliments on the food and wine, the amazing hosting and splendid night. After dinner and dessert, the ladies and men separated, men going into the study and the ladies going into the sitting room; talking about business and the upcoming fashion and ball season, before the guests retired and went back home.

– –

Henry nervously paced outside Mr. McFayden's office adjusting his collar and tie as he waited for Mr. McFayden to be done with his meeting and his clerk, Mr. Sims, to show him into the tycoon's office.

“Mr. Cavill.” Mr. Sims called, appearing in the doorway. “Mr. McFayden is available to see you now.” He told Henry, with a polite smile.

“Thank you.” Henry smiled back, stepping into the office and gratefully took the chair he offered.

“Mr. McFayden will be in, in a moment.” Sims told him and stepped out of the room, back to his desk.

Henry glanced around the expensively furnished and decorated office, a painting of all Ulysses's ancestors that headed the company decorated the walls, there was a photograph of Matilda on the left side of his desk and a photo of you, as a small girl, on the right side of his desk. Henry leaned forward and picked up your photo and smirked at it, the classic ringlet curls in your hair as you smiled, bright and beautiful, at the camera; a contrast to the tight-lipped photo of your mother and paintings of grandfathers, that surrounded him.

“She was four, in that photo.” Ulysses's voice called, as he pushed open a pair of double pocket doors and entered his office from a board room. “She was so easy to deal with then.” He commented, taking the photo from Henry and stared at it for a moment, before setting it back in its place on his desk.

“I'm..sure.” Henry replied, slowly, unsure how else to answer him.

“What is it, that I can help you with, Mr. Cavill.” Ulysses asked, seating himself behind his desk.

“I would like to discuss that business venture, we started to talk about it at your party last week.” Henry answered, getting right to the point of the matter.

“The mining venture.” Ulysses nodded, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair and tented his fingers together.

“Yes, in Chester.” Henry nodded, smiling, glad that he remembered.

“Tell me about it again.”

“Um,” He cleared his throat, fiddling with the chain to his pocket watch. “My grandfather owned a farm that also sat on top of a mine, but wasn't able to do anything with the mine. My father wanted to make something of it as well, but got held up with running Cavill Enterprises and the Munro Shipping Company. My youngest brother, Charlie, has actually checked the mining site out and found it held a very large deposit of stone. I want to try and tap into that resource.”

“Why are you coming to me with this prospect?” Ulysses asked, brows drawing together. “I know you own and run Cavill Enterprises, as well as having stocks in the Munro Shipping Company and are on the board for it. So, you have a considerable sum of money.”

“I do.” Henry smirked, chuckling softly. “But, I have zero understanding and knowledge on mining and everything it entails. I know, one of your biggest businesses is in mining, that you have the knowledge and understanding of it.”

“You should also know, that knowledge like that has a price on it.”

“Of course.” Henry nodded and shifted in his seat, sitting up straighter. “I would, of course, pay for your assistance and guidance, entering into a partnership with you in the endeavor.”

“What sum are you considering?” Ulysses inquired, lifting a brow at the younger man.

“Well,” Henry cleared his throat, his collar feeling tight. “Until, we find out the success and quantity of the load the mine holds, I would be ready to pay you whatever fee you would like, then once it was found to be fruitful and a business could be made of it, I would be comfortable with going into a fifty/fifty partnership with you on it.”

Ulysses leaned back in his high backed and leather chair, regarding Henry with an experienced and meditative expression, drumming his fingers together. “Do you have a sample of the stone the prospective mine contains?” He asked, tapping his index fingers against his thin lips.

“Yes.” Henry nodded, reaching down to the briefcase he carried with him, flipping open the flap and plunged his hand inside, fishing a large stone out of it and setting it in the middle of Ulysses's desk. “It's Quartz.”

Nodding, Ulysses picked up the chunk and examined it, blindly pulling open a side drawer of his desk and pulled out a magnified eye piece to inspect it closer. “Hmm.” He hummed, turning the stone around and around. “It's clear mineral Quartz.” Ulysses told Henry, putting his eye piece back in its drawer. “In this form alone, this piece of Quartz can go for three pound sterling.”

“Really?” Henry squeaked, eyes huge with shock.

“Yes.” Ulysses nodded, setting the rock down within Henry's reach. “So, if the mine is full of rich Quartz like that,” he motioned to the sample. “then, it should be more than profitable.”

“The mine, rumored mind you, my grandfather investigated it not long after buying the land, but I and my brothers haven't had the time to confirm it, to contain Limestone as well.” Henry continued to explain to him.

“That's very profitable as well.” Ulysses pressed his lips together, contemplating the prospects, affordability, profitability and future possibility in the enterprise. “I would like to see the mine, myself.” He said, finally.

“Yes, of course. That's completely understandable.” Henry nodded, licking his lips and rubbed his sweaty palms on the knees of his pants, feeling like the meeting was going really well. “I would appreciate that, really.”

Ulysses shuffled through a calendar on his desk, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he considered dates and events in his near future. “I have an open weekend in a month, I can make the trip up to Chester, then. If you would like.”

“That is absolutely perfect.” Henry beamed, moving to the edge of his seat with excitement. “I can have everything you want and need arranged by then.”

“Fantastic.” Ulysses smiled tightly back, standing up from his chair and extended his hand to Henry.

Henry stood, his smile not even faltering as he took the older man's cold hand in his warm one, squeezing and shaking it, brimming with pride and enthusiasm. “Thank you! Thank you so much, Mr. McFayden.” He thanked him, picking up his bag and putting the Quartz back inside of it. “I really look forward to working with you, and hope our future business is lucrative.”

“Same for me, Mr. Cavill.” He smiled back, nodding his head slowly. “I'll have Mr. Sims contact you ahead of my arrival and anything that comes up between now and then.” He assured him.

“I'll leave my card with him.” Henry replied and showed himself out, pulling a business card out of his pocket and handed it to Sims at his desk, before practically skipping out of the building.

Henry was invited to dinner at the McFayden's home a week later, to discuss the mine a bit more and he was excited about getting the venture started with him. He walked up the front steps of the Manor and checked his clothing, brushing off the arms and shoulders of his blazer, then rang the door bell, patiently waiting for the butler to answer.

“I'm Mr. Cavill, and I am expected for dinner with Mr. McFayden.” He explained, when the butler opened the door and lifted a brow at him.

“Of course, sir.” the Butler nodded, stepping aside and motioning for Henry to enter. “Would you like a drink, while I inform Mr. McFayden of your arrival?” He asked, pointing to the glass decanters at the small bar in the study.

“Yes, please.” Henry nodded, biting his lip. “Brandy.” He added as the Butler moved to the bar and pulled out a glass, pouring Henry his drink, then excused himself to go upstairs to Ulysses's personal study. “Oh, hello, Ms. McFayden.” Henry grinned, seeing you passing by the open doorway.

You looked up from your book, catching sight of Henry standing in the study, clutching his untouched glass. Startled for a moment, before you smiled back; politely curtsying to him and then continued on your way. Henry half frowned as the rustle of your skirts faded away down the hall, he had hoped you would stop and speak to him, or at least say _something_ to him. When he was last there, and the first time, he had sat across from you at the table, but never heard you utter a single word the whole three hours at the dinner, you sat quietly and ate each course and dessert in perfect and polite silence, hardly even making eye contact with anyone, other than your mother, who narrowed her eyes at you a lot.

“Hm.” Henry grunted softly, pressing his lips together and resolutely deciding to get you to say something before he left for the evening. “So, how are you liking the food, Ms. McFayden?” Henry asked later, at dinner, smiling at you across the table and took a bite of his steak.

You gulped down your sip of wine and looked across at Henry, caught off-guard that he was addressing you, then looked to your mother for what to do; she lifted a brow at you slightly. “It's very delicious. Thank you, Mr. Cavill.” You replied in a quiet voice, meeting his eye again, nervously.

“Good.” He smiled at you, happy to finally get to hear your voice, but found it odd that you looked to your mother before answering. “You're very quiet.” Henry commented later, finding you alone on the back terrace, enjoying the cool night air.

“Um.” You blinked up at him, eyes shooting to the open double doors, the curtains billowing inside the house, but the pair of you were alone. “Yes, I am.” You gulped, looking back up at him, even in heels you barely reached Henry's shoulders.

“I'm sorry.” Henry frowned, blinking down at you as something struck him. “Do I make you uncomfortable?” He asked, afraid that he did.

“No.” You squeaked out, shaking your head at him, startled at the prospect that he thought such a thing. “Not at all, Mr. Cavill. I'm just not used to people addressing me, is all.” You explained to him, trying to put his concern at ease.

“Well, that's a comfort.” Henry replied, relieved, feeling a pressure in his chest loosen. “Are you an only child?” He asked, stepping closer to the railing, and you.

“I am.” You nodded, biting your lip and rubbing the edge of your sleeve, nervously.

“It must be lonely in this big house, by yourself.” He commented, looking over the expansive backyard. “I have four brothers, three older and one younger.” He explained, turning to face you and leaned his hip against the railing.

“I've always wanted a sibling.” You answered, frowning down at your covered feet. “But, even without one, I don't feel _completely_ alone here.” You sighed and relaxed, as alone as you did feel, the ghosts that haunted your family home always kept you company, as tormenting as they were. You tensed again, hearing your mother's approaching steps and became panicked, knowing she would lose her temper if she saw you alone with their guest. “I must go, have a pleasant night, Mr. Cavill.” You bowed to him and rushed off, vanishing around the corner of the terrace.

Henry opened his mouth to bid you good night, but you were already gone. “Mrs. McFayden.” He smiled and nodded his head, as Matilda appeared in the open terrace doorway.

“Have you seen my daughter?” She asked, eyes narrowed and looking around for any sign of you.

“No, I have not.” Henry replied, lying for you.

“Hm.” Matilda huffed, pressing her lips together, then turned on her feels and went back inside.

– A Year Later –

The business venture for the Mine in Chester went off with a booming success, making Henry and Ulysses even richer. Henry spent a lot of time with your family, becoming a big part of it, your father spoke highly of him, treating him like the son he had always wanted. But, your father's attention to Henry came at the cost and jealousy from others, those that had done everything they had and could to be in the position they held in Ulysses's eyes, life and businesses. They felt the audacity of young Henry Cavill achieving such a highly coveted placement, especially with how fresh his entrance into their society was. But, Henry didn't let that bother him, he was assured of himself, he had fought hard to be where he was at, so had his father, and no one would ever discredit it.

“I don't think you deserve the distinction.” Elias Wells growled at Henry, as they stood in the McFayden library. “Some first generation Gentleman, encroaching on the position of someone with older and wealthier blood, should inherit.”

You could hear the conversation from where you sat, by the fireplace. You looked at Henry's face, but he was smiling brightly, genuinely, at the other man, his body language was relaxed and unbothered. You could tell Elias was trying hard to ruffle Henry's feathers, to heat up his blood and fight him. It was normal Elias behavior, you had known Elias since you were ten and he was fourteen, he enjoyed using his position and money to upset those he deemed the ' _lesser class_ '. Even people wealthier than the Wells' family, got placed into the category by Elias, learned from his stiff lipped and nose-in-the-air father, who died six years before, leaving Elias as the 'man of the house' and their textile factories. But, Elias was all hot blood, he'd gotten into numerous fist-fights and duels, always highly public, he wasn't afraid to announce it, whether he won them or not. It was what he was trying to do now with Henry, he wanted Henry to lose his temper and either get into a fight with him or a duel; knowing that such public scrutiny would upset your father. Your father took his image extremely seriously, and would probably disown Henry and close their business plans together, if Henry got into a tiff with Elias, or anyone for that matter. You knew, if your father did that, then Henry would be ruined, not just because your father would end the profitable mining investment they were in together, costing Henry that money; which in itself wasn't a huge blow to Henry's financial situation and wealth, being that he owned and ran Cavill Enterprises, that was larger than the mining operation itself, and was also a board member and CEO of the Munro Shipping Company.

But, if something was to happen between your father and Henry, that would cause him to pull his wealth, name and influence with _anything_ to do with Henry, then _all_ of Henry's businesses would suffer. Depending on the enormity and publicity, People would stop giving Henry's businesses work, people would no longer seek the shipping company to be carried across the pond to the Americas for anything from personal items, like furniture, to official business, such as government contracts. Cavill Enterprises would suffer as well, dealing with trade and commerce. Henry could find himself in a worse situation than his poor farmer of a grandfather.

“The purity and age of a man's blood, doesn't always show his worth.” Henry replied to Elias, taking a sip of his claret.

You watched Elias's face turn the color of his Pinot Noir, his brown eyes taking on an angry sheen as he glared death holes into Henry. As hard as Elias tried to use Henry's past and bloodline against him, the more relaxed Henry became, which only heightened Elias's anger. Thinking quickly, before a full brawl broke out, you set your glass down and stood up, gliding over to the two men, a small crowd had formed as Elias became more heated, slipping between the men and rested your hand on Henry's arm, smiling up at him, sweetly.

“I do believe, Mr. Cavill, you promised me a dance at the next song.” You said, lifting a brow at him, a hint in your eyes.

A smirk twitched up at the corner of Henry's mouth as he looked down at you, getting the hint and gratefully taking the offered excuse to escape the childish conversation. “I did, did I not.” He chuckled, sitting his glass on the mantelpiece beside him, and tucked your hand in the crook of his arm. “Excuse me,” He looked pointedly at Elias. “Gentlemen. I would hate to break a promise to this lovely lady.” He grinned, turning you gracefully towards the door and escorted you out to the spacious ball room as the band your parents had hired, struck up a fresh song. “I appreciate the aid.” Henry told you, bending his head down slightly, so he could speak quietly into your ear.

“Well, it was either this, or sit by and watch Elias rage at you, like a bull in a china shop.” You giggled, turning to face him, resting one hand on his high shoulder, feeling the muscles beneath his coat flex as he hugged his arm around your corseted waist, broad palm pressed to the small of your back.

“He was turning rather red, wasn't he?” Henry laughed, his head throwing back slightly as you both held out your linked hands and started turning and gliding across the dance floor to the flow of music.

“As a beet.” You smiled and sighed, you always felt so relaxed in Henry's presence.

During one of the turns, you saw Elias glowering in the doorway of the ballroom, his hands clasped into fists with a look of utter disgust and jealousy on his still beet red face. Stomping his foot, Elias spun around and stormed out of the house, muttering things under his breath as he stormed down the gravel driveway. You and Henry danced several more times before breaking off for a breather.

“What were you doing?” Matilda's voice hissed behind you, as you poured yourself a glass of punch.

“What?” You replied, sheepish, your punch glass trembling slightly.

“You could have made a scene.”

You licked your lips slowly, stomach twisting in knots. “Was I too just let them get into a screaming match, and possibly a fist fight?” You asked her, a hot brick in your throat. “Wouldn't have that caused a scene and reflected badly on Papa?”

“You should have come to get me.” Matilda jeered at you, quietly, making sure to keep her face fixed into its usual neutral expression, not wanting the guests to see how furious she was at you. “You stupid girl.” Her hand flexing at her side, like she wanted to slap you; and you knew she wanted too.

“Mrs. McFayden, such a lovely party you've organized tonight.” Henry's voice said, cheerily, behind you both, both of your freezing solid.

“Thank you, Mr. Cavill.” Matilda replied, her face lighting up with its masterful art of hiding what she was really thinking and feeling. “I am so glad you are enjoying yourself, on this splendid night.”

Henry rested his hand on his chest and bowed, politely at her. “Would it be all right with you, if I stole Ms. McFayden, for another dance?” He asked, smiling sweetly at you.

Matilda looked at you, you could see her still seething, you had known your mother long enough to know what signs to look for, to see beyond the armored wall she erected in her mind. You took a deep drink of your punch and set the cup down on the punch table, and turned to Henry, curtsying to him.

“I appreciate your request, Mr. Cavill.” You smiled at him, trying to hold yourself together. “But, it is late and I am tired, I think I will just retire for the night. I beg your pardon.”

“Of course, it is rather late.” He nodded, his expression soft as he looked at you. “I wish you a good night.” He said, bowing to you. “As well as you, Mrs. McFayden.”

“Thank you, Mr. Cavill.” Your mother smiled at him, then glanced at you.

Nodding your head, you excused yourself again and left the ballroom. You were meant to go back upstairs to your bedroom, but it was hot, your corset felt the tightest it possibly could be and you weren't actually tired. So, you detoured, using the servant hallways to reach the back of the house and stepped out into the garden. Groaning, you yanked off your shoes and walked barefoot through the dewy grass, it felt great to your sore and aching toes and arches. You knelt down at the edge of the pond, watching the ducks paddling in content circles together.

“Enjoying your night, y/n.”

You sighed, setting your shoes down and rubbed the side of your face. “Very well, and yours, Elias?” You replied, suddenly feeling the exhaustion you had feigned in front of Henry and your mother.

“Bet, you think, you are so cute in front of the ill-bred runt?” He hissed, still steaming with anger towards Henry.

“No, Elias.” You sighed again, wiggling your toes into the grass. “I was only trying to prevent the two of you from getting into a fight.” You told him. “It would have made my father look bad, and you know how he feels about people that make a scene in his home; importantly, in front of his distinguished guests.” You looked at him with a cold look, that would have made your mother unfailingly proud.

Elias snapped forward, grabbing you by the elbows and yanked you up to your feet, shaking you roughly, several times, gnashing his teeth at you as his anger bubbled over. “You will learn your place, just like that runt will.” He hissed at you and shoved you backwards, almost sending you staggering into the pond.

“What does that mean?” You hissed back at him.

“You'll see.” He growled and stormed back into the house.

– –

“Mr. McFayden.” Elias called, squashing down his white hot anger, as he knocked on Ulysses's private study door.

“Come in!” Ulysses called from inside, shuffling around some papers on his desk.

Taking a deep breath, Elias entered the study, closing the door behind him, for some extra privacy. “Mr. McFayden, there's something I'd love to discuss with you.” He started, leading straight into what he had been considering for a very long time.

“Of course, Elias. By all means, speak your mind.” Ulysses replied, giving him his attention.

“I have been a very good acquaintance of yours, and your family's, since I was a small boy. In some respects, I consider you a father.” Elias said, clearing his throat and shuffling his feet. “With that being said, I would like to ask for your daughter's hand in marriage.” He just came out with it.

Ulysses stared at Elias for quite some time, regarding him, and making Elias feel like he could see his very insides. Licking his lips and looking down at the stack of papers on his desk for a moment, Ulysses looked back up at Elias. “I will consider your proposal of marrying y/n, and give you my answer in a fortnight. Should you _not_ hear from me on the matter, in that allotted time, take it as a no and do not pursue it any farther. Am I understood?” He told him, in a cold and business-like voice.

“Clearly, Sir.” Elias nodded, feeling his anger quiver in the pit of his stomach, he was expecting an immediate yes to his marriage proposal to you.

“Perfect.” Ulysses replied, planting his hands on his hips and glancing around his study. “If you will leave me, I have pressing matters to consider and deal with.” He said, sitting down and pushing his chair closer to his desk.

Elias stood in the hallway after stepping out of Ulysses's study, trying his best to cool and control his temper. He had wanted you as his wife for several years, he had known as a fifteen year old that he wanted to marry you, and it wasn't necessarily a love reason. His own parents hadn't married for love, their marriage had been arranged for the social status and choice blood for children. While he felt something for you, he didn't know if it was just love, or a sense of entitlement and ownership towards you. Didn't matter, your father would tell him yes, and there would be a beautiful, and very public, wedding in the fall. It would be incredibly perfect, especially when your father died and he would inherit his businesses through you.

“She'll be mine, by the end of the year.” He smirked to himself, going down the grand staircase. “Come hell or high water.”

You sat at the breakfast table the next morning, your father turned to you and announced that Elias had asked for your hand. You nearly choked on your breakfast as he said it. “When?” You squeaked, quietly.

“He asked last night.” Ulysses answered, breaking open his hard-boiled egg.

“What did you tell him, dear?” Matilda asked, nonchalant.

“I told him, I would give him my answer in a fortnight.” He replied, both of them as cool as butter about the subject, while you sat there, wide-eyed and panicked at the thought of marrying him.

“Are you going to approve?” Matilda asked, glancing at him.

“I am unsure, my love.” Ulysses replied, taking a sip of his coffee. “He comes from good breeding, his family is quite wealthy and he's quite refined.” He said, frowning down at his toast.

You gulped at his words, remembering the way his was rough with you in the garden, and how easily he was angered, even when he felt the smallest thing slighted him. It terrified you to think your father would approve of Elias. It was something you had known to expect, he was your father and he would vet any suitors trying for your hand in marriage, and being almost twenty-one, the time for him to marry you off, whether or not you liked the man he picked, was closing in on you; which only made you more anxious over the matter. You didn't love Elias, you hardly liked him, but that wouldn't matter, how you felt, it wouldn't matter to your parents, it never has. A crippling fear of being trapped in an abusive and loveless marriage, like you were trapped in the care and home of your parents was nauseating to you. You always fantasized a knight in shining armour would come and rescue you, but that was just the silly fancy of a cursed girl.

“It would be an excellent match.” Your mother commented, staring at you across the table and raised an eyebrow at you, seeing your panic. “Pull yourself together, you silly girl.” She huffed at you, rolling her eyes. “You would be lucky to marry a man like Mr. Wells.”

“Yes, Mother.” You whispered and stared down at your plate, knowing better to comment any farther.

Those two weeks were the longest days in your life, you were always on edge, when your father came home or entered the room, expecting him to tell you he had accepted Elias's proposal and you would be married the next day. But, it never came, the two weeks went by, then three and four, five and six; not a word about the proposal, as if it had never happened. You slowly relaxed over the matter, figuring your father had told Elias no, for whatever reason, and whatever that reason was, you were more than thankful for it. But, one morning, after breakfast, you were sitting on the balcony, reading a new book, when your father appeared in the doorway.

“Papa?” You addressed him, looking at him with wide and expecting eyes, waiting for him to say what he had come to tell you.

“I accepted a proposal for your hand in marriage.” He told you, plainly.

Your eyes grew large with horror and shock, book dropping from your hand, feeling faint. “Who?” You whimpered, hiccuping at the lump in your throat.

“I will tell you, when I return from my work trip tomorrow night.” He told you, then left you in stunned silence.

Twenty-four hours of waiting to find out about the marriage proposal your father had accepted, you prayed so hard that your father hadn't changed his mind about Elias's proposal and accepted it after all. But, tomorrow night would never come, you were woken up by the echoing wails coming from downstairs, for a moment, you thought your ghost was coming back to torment you, but your mind quickly identified the noises as your mother's. You pulled on a robe and flew down the stairs, it was dreadfully unlike your mother to lose her composure over anything, so when you found her on the chaise in a swoon, you were floored.

“Mama, what's the matter?” You gasped, dropping to your knees at her side and took up her hand. “What's happened?” You demanded of the butler, your mother's Lady's maid and a man you knew as your father's business partner.

“Perhaps, you should sit down as well, child.” Ulysses's business partner, Thaddeus, suggested and motioned to a chair beside your mother; which you took up. “There has been an incident.” He told you, taking your hand between his, patting it in a reassuring way.

“What type of incident?” You frowned, glancing around the room, looking for someone to explain to you what was going on.

“Your father has..” Thaddeus cleared his throat and opened his mouth to continue, but was cut off by the ringing of the door bell.

The butler shuttled off and answered it, a rush of steps came towards the study and Henry appeared in the doorway, eyes frantic until he saw you and relaxed.

“I came as soon as I heard.” He told you, sitting down beside you and taking your hand from Thaddeus's.

“Do you know what's happened?” You asked him, squeezing his hand for support.

“No, all I heard was there was an incident at the McFayden residence, and rushed right over to make sure you all were all right.” He explained, squeezing your hand back and rubbing your wrist with his thumb. “What's happened, Thad?” Henry asked, looking up at the older man, still hovering over you.

“Mr. McFayden was discovered in his hotel suite,” Thaddeus gulped, looking between you and your recovering mother. “ _dead_.”

You gasped, pressing your knuckles to your lips and turned your body into Henry's, laying your forehead against his shoulder as silent tears overwhelmed you. _Dead_ , your father was dead. Ulysses Dante McFayden was no more, he was never coming home, you would never see him ever again. The darkness of the Manor seemed to grow even more as you clung onto Henry, who pressed his cheek to your hair and rubbed your back, shushing you softly and offering all the comfort he could.

“How?” Henry asked, looking up at Thaddeus, rocking you gently.

“I don't think, it's appropriate to discuss that in front of the ladies.” Thaddeus replied, looking at you and your mother again, sheepishly.

You looked up at Thaddeus, setting your expression. “ _How_?” You asked, firmly.

“He was..” Thaddeus gulped, wringing his hands. “He was stabbed, repeatedly.”

Matilda whined on the chaise, blanching. “My poor sweet Ollie.” She whimpered in a broken voice. “My poor poor Ollie.”

“By whom was he attacked?” Henry asked, gobsmacked.

“It is unsure.” Thaddeus replied, deeply uncomfortable. “He had a client meeting in his rooms, but it is unsure if that's who attacked him, or if that person even arrived for their appointment.”

“Do they know who this client is?” You asked him. “To question him? To make sure, he isn't the scoundrel that did this.”

“The authorities are checking into him, I assure you. We are doing everything that needs to be done to bring this monster to justice and close the matter as quickly and quietly as possible.”

“Thank you.” You whispered and got a hold of yourself, gratefully taking the handkerchief Henry offered you.

“You and your mother will have to finalize your father's estate and businesses.” Thaddeus said, reluctant to bring the matter up so soon, but it needed to be done.

“Of course.” You nodded, your mind reeling even more.

“Don't worry.” Henry smiled at you, squeezing your hand. “I'll be with you, every way I can.” He promised, thumbing away a tear on your cheek.

“Thank you.” You sniffled, throwing your arms around his neck.

Henry was true to his word, he was there for you and your mother in the aftermath of your father's murder. That was still hard to come to terms with, your father was _murdered_ , by someone and you couldn't understand why anyone could be such a monster to kill someone else. Henry went with you, to identify your father's body, being your mother was bedridden in her grief. You clutched Henry's strong arm as the undertaker pulled back the sheet from your father's face, his face a chalky white and flaccid. You reached out and touched his temple, trying to make sure it was all real and not some surreal dream you were having. But, the ice cold skin beneath your fingertips was all too real, shocking your system even more.

“That's him.” You whispered, your voice distant and foreign to your own ears.

“Is that all you need of her?” Henry asked, hugging his arm around you, tucking you into the warmth of his side and body, pushing out the eerie cold of the morgue.

“It is.” The Undertaker nodded, covering your father up again.

“Your mother has asked me to arrange the funeral.” Luis, your family lawyer, said as he stood beside the undertaker, a pile of papers in his hands.

“That's fine.” You nodded, not really paying attention.

Wishing you could be away from this place, squeezing your eyes shut as the throb of a headache pressed in on your temples, you could feel them, the lingering spirits, hanging closely to their now empty flesh; angry, confused and lost on what to do now, that life had left them. You could feel one close to your shoulder, the chill of it reddened your earlobe and a shiver quaked down your spine. Henry felt it and held you closer to him, supporting you against his strong and tall body. You dared to glance at the spirit floating over your shoulder, praying it wasn't your father, thankfully it was not. It was a young-ish woman, eyes white and blank, with half a caved in skull; you jerked at the sight of her, whimpering and squeezing your eyes tight against the sight, willing your mind not to etch it into a permanent place in your brain.

“Let's leave.” Henry said softly, looking down at you, concerned for your well-being. “We can sign the papers at the house.” He suggested, already turning away with you, your solid and living form brushing through the spirit of the young lady, displacing her like a plume of smoke, before her form righted itself. “Are you all right?” He whispered to you as you blinked at the bright sunlight, feeling it warm away the chill of death.

“I'm fine.” You whispered back, taking a deep breath and pushing it all away from your mind.

Henry cupped your face, rubbing your cheek with his thumb, a crease of deep concern on his brow as he looked into your eyes. “You can confide in me.” He told you, sincerely.

“Mr..”

“Henry.” He interrupted you, gently, smiling at you, hopeful. “Please, _please_ , call me Henry.”

You blinked at him, and felt a flutter in your stomach. “Henry.” You whispered his name for the first time. “Y/n.” You mumbled back, shyly.

Henry grinned, brimming with joy. “Y/n.” He whispered your name back to you, his chest light. “Let's get you home.” He said, rubbing his hands up and down your arms as you shivered, the cold London wind whipping around you both.

“Okay, Henry.” You nodded, it felt nice to say his given name.

“Okay, y/n.” He nodded back, folding your hand into his arm and walked to the carriage with you, opening the door and helping you inside, before following you in and tucking a blanket around your lap, for added warmth.

“Would you..stay?” You asked, walking into the foyer of the Manor and looking up at Henry, so tired and depressed.

“Here?” Henry squeaked, blinking down at you. “With you?”

“You see how big this place is?” You said, waving a hand around. “A person can, and has, gotten lost in this house. It takes a week to go from one side of the house to the other.” You laughed, trying to lighten your and Henry's moods.

“If it would make you feel more comfortable.” He said, biting his lip, really hoping he wasn't overstepping.

“It really would.” You told him, softly. “My mother has my aunt, Bella. So, she won't notice in the slightest.”

– –

It was a week later that you attended your father's funeral. Your mother sobbing on her sister, Bella's shoulder. Your aunt had come down from Yorkshire to be with your mother in her time of need. Thankfully in that time, you had Henry to be your strong arm and shoulder, your borrowed ear as you stood at the graveside in your black dress. Henry's hand rested on the small of your back, while holding the umbrella with his other, the wet snow fell all around you and the large procession, over four hundred people came to your father's funeral.

You laid in bed, staring up at your ceiling, that night, drained in so many ways, but sleep wouldn't take you. You shivered and pulled your blanket over yourself more, and groaned seeing your frosty breath in a mist above your face. A pounding vibrated through the house, shaking your bed, it happened repeatedly in a rhythmic kind of way, it was nothing like any of the ghosts in the house had acted before. Squeezing your eyes shut for a moment, you got up and grabbed the candle stick beside your bed, lighting it and went to your bedroom door, pressing your ear to it. You slowly opened your door and started, seeing the spirit that tormented you the most.

“What's the fuss?” You hissed at her, tired of dealing with the dead.

The spirit extended its arm and pointed down the hall to the stairs. Narrowing your eyes, you took the hint and made your way down the stairs to the landing, leading down to the second floor of the Manor, where you could look down over the railing to the foyer and front floor below. Your mouth slowly dropped open, seeing a spirit floating in the space in front of you.

“Papa.” You gulped, biting back tears as you saw him.

“Y/n.” Ulysses groaned back at you, glancing around the house like he didn't know where he was or why he was there.

“Oh, Papa. No.” You whined, heartbroken, setting your candlestick on a nearby table. “Why are you here? Go, in peace. Please, Papa.” You cried, gripping the banister. “You don't belong here anymore.” You tried to convince him to cross over, you looked over your shoulder to the other spirit. “Helena, help him. Please!”

“Lily Hill Manor.” She rasped back, crooking a bony finger at you.

“I don't care about the stupid Manor.” You roared, tears dripping from your face. “Help him cross over! I beg of you.”

“Say, yes.” Your father echoed, like the hiss of steam being released. “Tell him, yes.”

“Lily Hill Manor is where you belong.” Helena moaned back. “He needs you, his legacy.”

“Ah!” You screamed, frustrated and at your wit's end. “Papa, take my hand.” You begged him, leaning over the banister and stretching your arm out to him. “Take my hand, Papa. I'll help you, just touch my hand.”

Henry had been woken up by your cries and got out of bed, wrapping a robe around himself, he had stayed in the Manor at your request, concerned for you, since your mother and aunt only seemed concerned with each other. He went upstairs to your floor, found your bedroom door open, but empty and icy cold.

“Papa, please!” Your voice echoed up to him.

Turning he started to the ground floor, and found you teetering over the banister, arm extended to your max reach over the far distance to the ground, toes barely touching the floor. Henry's heart started at the sight of you, the look of sheer terror and panic on your face, tears flowing. He shivered, unaware that he was standing right behind Helena.

“Papa, crossover! You can't allow yourself to be stuck here. Not like the rest of them, please!” You begged him, desperate.

Helena turned to Henry, making her clicking and popping sounds as she brought her contorted mouth to his ear. “Save her.” She hissed to him, making his thick body shake with cold, then ran the sharp tip of her finger up his spine, and with a flicker and shake of his head, Henry could see the white, contorted and transparent floating apparition of your father.

“Dear, God.” He gasped, mouth falling to the floor.

Ulysses locked eyes with Henry, his pure white eye sockets burned holes into Henry's very being. “Tell her. Make her, say yes. Protect her.” He rasped and moaned at him.

You looked back and finally noticed Henry standing there. “Henry!” You called out, surprised to see him.

“Y/n!” Henry yelled back, starting forward as you started to slip and lose your balance, just managing to wrap an arm around your waist and pull you back from falling, potentially, to your death. “Y/n.” He repeated your name, in a scared pant, hugging you back against him.

“You saw him.” You panted back, in shock.

“Yeah.” Henry let out in a startled rush, glancing back, but didn't see your father anymore. “Is he gone?” He asked, looking back to you.

You looked back and saw nothing either, but still felt the chill of Helena. “No.” You shook your head. “I think,” You gulped, pressing your hand to your forehead. “I think he's crossed over.” You said, softly.

“Well, that-that's good.” Henry sighed, running a hand through his disheveled curls. “Y/n, I know this isn't the best time to tell you this.” He said, gulping and licking his lips as you turned to look up at him. “But, two weeks before your father died, I asked him for your hand.” Henry confessed to you. “He gave me his answer, the day before he left for his trip.”

“You?” You squeaked up at him, stunned at the revelation. “My father agreed to allow _you_ to marry me?” You asked, shaking your head.

Henry looked at you, hot knots twisting up in his stomach, fearing your reaction. “Yes.” He nodded. “He said, he would tell you after his trip and that our courtship would start there after.” He explained to you, chewing on his lip and cheek.

“It was you.” You said softly, feeling incredibly relieved. “Oh, thank the heavens.” You let out a relieved breath, relaxing and slumping against the wall behind you.

“You're not upset, or opposed to it?” Henry asked, shocked that you seemed joyous about it.

“No.” You grinned and laughed, a sense of freedom washing over you. “No, not at all. He told me, the morning he left, that someone had asked, but wouldn't tell me who, until after he returned home.”

“But, you were afraid to find out who it was.” He said, it was plain to see.

“Yes.” You admitted, honestly. “I feared that my father had reconsidered Elias's proposal and told him yes.”

“Elias asked your father?” Henry asked, eyes wide with shock, and anger.

“The night of the ball, where he was trying to provoke you.” You explained to him, and rolled your eyes. “Probably his attempt to ' _put me in my place_ '.” You huffed, shaking your head at the memory.

Henry growled at the thought of Elias trying to encroach on you. “Well, I know, it's not conventional or the best timing, but, would you _like_ to marry me?” He asked, shyly. 

You smiled up at Henry, resting your hand on his forearm. “I would _love_ to marry you, Henry.” You told him, out of your wildest fantasies about being rescued from your life, Henry was the closet and most perfect depiction of that knight. “Does anyone else know about this?” You asked, narrowing your eyes, knowing that if you both were to go public with your courtship, Elias might dispute the claim, and now your marital status was in the feeble hands of your mother. 

“Yes, Thaddeus was in the room, when I asked and when your father gave me his consent.” Henry assured you, cupping your hands in his, following your train of thought. 

“That's good.” You sighed, relieved. 

Henry smiled at you, and couldn't help himself, he cupped your cheek in his hand and kissed you, delicately on the lips. You smiled and giggled, your first kiss, and kissed him back. “I should get you back to bed.” Henry whispered, breaking the kiss, but still very close to you. “It's late and been a trying day.” 

“It has.” You agreed, feeling the exhaustion and soreness in your body. “I'll tell my mother in the morning.” You said, as you walked back up to your room with him. 

“I think that's a good idea.” Henry agreed, stopping in the doorway of your bedroom. “Is it all right, if I stay in one of the rooms up here?” He asked, turning his body towards the other closed doorways on your floor, he wanted to be closer to you, in cause you needed him again, but still respectful and proper, at least until you were truly his wife. 

“Of course.” You nodded, getting into bed. “There's one at the end of the hall you'll find more comfortable. The others haven't been used in, at least, my lifetime.” Henry bowed his head at you, resting his hand on the knob of your door. “Don't.” You gasped, as he started to close it. 

Henry looked at you, a small crease on his brow, but smiled gently at you, nodding his head. “Of course.” He assured you, letting it go. “Good night, y/n.” He bid you, softly. 

“Good night, Henry.” You replied, laying down on your side. 

You watched Henry go down the hall to Grace's old room, opening the door and stepping inside. He glanced around the room that had been shut up for several years, but you still occasionally went into the room, to sleep, when your _hysterical terrors_ became too much for you. Her room had become a safe haven for you. Henry pulled back the quilts on the bed and laid down, both of you could see each other through the open doorways, and you fell asleep with the calming assurance that Henry was there, watching over you. 


	2. Part II

You woke the next morning and dressed, Henry had already risen, as usual, and you found him downstairs, sitting at the breakfast table with a newspaper, that he folded and put down on the table as you came into the room, next to his steaming cup of coffee, and smiled at you.

“Good morning.” He greeted you in a sweet voice.

“Good morning.” You greeted him back, blushing softly.

“Did you sleep well?” He asked, standing and pulled a chair out for you.

“I did, thank you.” You smiled, sitting down in the offered chair, across from him. “Did you?” You asked as the maid poured you a cup of tea.

“I did.” Henry nodded, taking his seat again.

“I am,” You swallowed, picking up the fine porcelain cup and took a fortifying sip of tea. “ _sorry_ , for disturbing you last night.” You apologized, looking at him over the rim of your cup, shy about the occurrence during the night.

“It's qui--” Henry started to say, shaking his head at you, but was interrupted by the entrance of your aunt.

“Everyone in the household heard you last night, niece!” She hissed, sitting herself in a chair, several down the table from you, like she expected you would give her something nasty. “You really should get a handle on your hysterical terrors. It's embarrassing, and you wouldn't want to end up like your great-aunt Ada.” She huffed, snapping her fingers at the servant for her own cup of tea.

Henry looked across to you, watching you shrink into your chair, head lowered over your own cup of tea, like you were hoping to shrink small enough to hide inside of it. He noticed the slight bite to your lower lip and the way your throat moved under the collar of your dress, like you were trying hard not to cry. It angered Henry greatly that your aunt had the audacity to speak to and treat you in such a way, giving her a dark look.

“She spent five years in an asylum.” Bella continued, around the lip of her cup. “Convinced she was the rightful Queen of England.” She said, in a high and stuttered manner, deemed a _polite_ way to laugh for a lady; You thought it sounded like she was choking. “You wouldn't want that, would you, niece?” She asked, lifting a brow at you, her face judgmental and cold.

You opened your mouth to say something, but your throat was so tight from embarrassment and the struggle to keep back tears, that nothing came out. Your aunt huffed and rolled her eyes at you, muttering something under her breath. You dropped your eyes back to the table cloth in front of you and focused on taking silent deep breathes, pulling yourself together. Henry's hand clenched into a fist atop the same cloth, staring holes into your aunt, wishing that she was in his home, so he could tell her to get out and never dare speak to you like that again, or it would be _her_ that needed an asylum. But, he wasn't, so he forcefully held his tongue. After breakfast, Henry stepped out to run some business that required his attention, leaving you alone in the house with your mother and aunt.

– –

Steeling yourself, you knocked softly on the door to your mother's private rooms. You had told Henry, you would tell her about your father agreeing to his betrothal before his untimely death. Your mother's voice called out for you to enter, in a spiritless voice. Taking another deep breath, you opened her door and stepped inside, gently closing the door behind you. Her room was dim, the heavy curtains were pulled across the tall windows, the only light was a single lit candle, in a sconce by the head of her bed, and a warming fire in the grate.

“How are you this morning, Mother?” You asked, carefully stepping into the middle ground of her room, between the door and her bed, twisting the hem of your sleeve as you looked over her meek form, propped up on her pillows, hair down and the throat of her nightie open.

“My dearest husband is dead, how do you think I am?” She asked, only the very faintest hint of her cold tone filled her voice, as she stared up at the canopy of her bed.

“I may have news that could brighten your spirits.” You told her, gently, biting your lip and afraid of how she would react to your and Henry's courtship.

“Is your father found alive, after all?” Matilda asked, turning a cynical brow at you.

You gulped, stomach squeezing as the flash of his ghostly and mournful face the night before appeared in your mind's eye. “No, Mama.” You whispered, dropping your eyes to the rug. “But, before Papa died, he accepted a betrothal on my behalf.” You told her, slowly, letting the words reach and sink into her. “To Mr. Cavill.” You informed her, a happy, but small, smile on your lips and in your eyes, really hoping it would charm her into a better mood, even for a moment.

“Come here, child.” Matilda bid, raising a limp hand and crooking a finger at you, motioning for you to move closer to her.

Which you did, hopeful. But, when you reached the side of her bed, she rose up suddenly and struck you across the face, with a stinging and ringing slap, your head snapping to the side from the surprising force. You could feel each of her knuckles imprinted across your cheekbone, your skin burning, like liquid fire.

“How could you think that would cheer me!” She screamed, eyes bright and wild. “You selfish brat!” She howled, raising her hand to strike you again, but you stumbled away from her. “I rue the day, I gave you birth! Always the disappointment and dark cloud over this house! How I prayed that it was you that had died in infancy and not your dear twin brother, August! A son would have brought this household pride and honor, not some lowly and cursed brat of a daughter!” She ranted, pulling at the fabric of her nightgown.

“What is the meaning of this!?” Your aunt yelled, storming into the room, alerted by the sounds of your mother's ravings. “What have you done to her, you wicked harlot!” She demanded of you, sitting on the edge of the bed and rested her hands on her sister's shaking shoulders. “Get out of here, you ungrateful brat! Go!” She barked at you, over her shoulder and not looking at you, as she started shushing Matilda, like a small frightened child.

“It's all right, Matti. It's fine, my dearest sister.”

You backed out of the room, your mother's ravings dying down to pathetic whimpers and whines. Gathering up your skirts, you raced along the hallway and down the stairs, tears dripping furiously down your flushed and bruised face. Heading where, you did not know. You just needed to get away, far away. Henry had just opened the door, returning from his business in the city, as you ran across the foyer, towards the back of the house. He saw your face and tears, mouth dropping open and his heart hurting at the pure agony he saw.

“Y/n!” He called after you, chasing you off the veranda, just catching sight of your skirts disappearing around a tall hedge and into the maddening maze of the garden. “Y/n?!” He yelled out to you, turning in circles and taking random turns at the frequent intersections. “Y/n, please! Where are you?” He begged, he could hear your sniffles and sobs, telling him he was, at least, close to you. He relaxed, coming around another corner and found the mossy and overgrown greenhouse, the broken glass door shoved open and vines freshly broken from you bursting inside.

“Y/n?” Henry whispered softly, ducking his head to clear the low header. “What's happened?” He asked, squatting in front of you and gently took your chin between his fingers, lifting your dripping face to his. He gasped, shocked to see the ugly bruise across your smooth skin. “Who's done this?” He frowned, delicately brushing the pad of his thumb over it and the small cut and swelling at the corner of your bottom lip, where your mother's ring connected.

“My mother.” You sniffled, hiccuping.

Henry sighed softly, his shoulders slumping and squeezing his eyes shut, for a moment. “Her reaction to finding out about us, I suppose.” He said, softly and rested his forehead gently against yours, not needing you to answer.

Henry knew your mother would oppose his betrothal to you, even without the inconvenience of your father's death. Your mother tolerated Henry, for her husband took a keen liking to him. Matilda, just like Elias, felt that his new money wasn't good enough for the aristocratic blood and money of the McFayden's; tainted with the blood of a dirt farmer. She had hoped that Ulysses would accept Elias's proposal to marry you, and had worked, tirelessly, in trying to convince your father into it, arguing that Elias had more prestige and financial savvy than Henry did, even though Henry brought in more money and business per annum. Matilda was desperate for the son she had lost and always longer for, and saw only Elias in that position. But, that didn't matter. Ulysses had given Henry his full, and happy, backing support in marrying you; thankfully Thaddeus had been a witness to the meetings concerning it, or you and Henry could have lost each other for good.

“I'm so sorry.” You mewled, biting your lip and looking away from him, ashamed.

“You have nothing to be sorry about, my love.” Henry assured you, rubbing his nose against yours, trying to make you feel better. “I'll take care of you, you have my promise.” He whispered, brushing his fingers through your wind swept hair.

“You must think I'm crazy.” You huffed, pulling slightly away from him, wiping restlessly at your wet face.

“I don't.” Henry replied, glancing around and pulled out an upturned flower pot from under a table and sat himself down on it, in front of you. “I do admit, I am a bit confused as to what happened last night.” He confessed, the scenario of finding you leaning over the banister as you tried to reach out to the apparition of your father hadn't left his mind since it happened. “I mean, I'm more than certain that I saw your father--”

“I'm cursed.” You blurted out, cutting him off and blushing, bright red.

“Cursed?” Henry frowned, head leaning forward slightly as he looked at you surprised and even more confused. “How-how do you mean?” He shook his head.

“I am cursed.” You repeated, softer.

Henry chuckled, licking his lips with amusement. “My dearest love, that isn't possible.”

“You told me once, I could confide in you, Henry.”

“And, I meant it, y/n.” He replied, gently taking your hands in his.

“I can see them.” You whispered, rubbing your thumbs over his fingers. “I've only ever told one other person about them.” You rolled your eyes and sighed. “You heard what my aunt calls them.”

“Hysterical Terrors.” Henry nodded, rolling his own eyes at the words.

“Terrors, yes. Hysterical, not so much.” You said softly, keenly aware of how this all must sound to Henry.

“You can see the dead?” Henry asked, frowning softly.

“I told you, it was mad.” You replied, biting your lip.

“It doesn't sound mad at all.” He chuckled, squeezing your fingers.

“You're teasing me.” You frowned, shaking your head at him, feeling incredibly silly.

“I am not.” Henry grinned, brightly. “I swear it, I'm not.” He told you, patting your hand. “I believe you, I assure you. I can not dismiss your claim, after seeing it for myself.” He tried to comfort you. “I've never seen them before, though.” He frowned.

“Helena.” You whispered, eyes wide.

“Whom?”

“Helena, she is the chief spirit in this household.”

“Who is she?” Henry asked, leaning forward.

“I've never been able to ascertain that information.” You told him, a soft crease on your brow. “I've tried for the well of ten years. But, she's exceedingly powerful, though, and she was there last night. She's done her things before, with Grace.”

“Who's Grace?” He chuckled, trying to keep up with all the names.

“She is my former nanny.” You explained to him, smiling fondly at her memory.

“She knew of your _curse_?” Henry smiled.

“She does.” You nodded, slowly feeling more comfortable in the fact Henry didn't think you had lost your mind, talking about and seeing spirits.

“Can you only see spirits inside the Manor?” He asked you, curiously.

“No, if there's one around and wanting to be seen. I can see it.” You sighed, touching your thumb to the signet ring on his pinky.

“Do they plague you often?” Henry inquired, watching you caress the shining gold stamp of his family crest.

“Helena only comes, when she has something important to say or do.” You replied, quietly. “The others have their own minds, if they're even aware of having one.”

“Well,” Henry smiled, feathering his fingertips up and down your arm, then rested them under your chin, tipping your head back, so you looked at him. “I believe you, y/n. I don't think you're crazy either, or cursed for that matter.”

“How you can say the latter, is beyond me, Henry.” You chuckled, feeling the skin beneath the fabric of your sleeve come alive at his touch.

“You see,” He smiled, lifting your hand to his lips and gently kissing your knuckles. “I don't think it's a curse because, why would someone have such a power, only to be tormented? There has to be a good reason for you having it, that makes it worth having, or you wouldn't.”

You squeezed Henry's hand, a small shiver running down your back as you felt his soft, full lips against your skin. “At least, you found a silver lining in it.” You smiled at him, so put at ease by him.

“I'd find the ends of earth, if it would make you happy.” Henry confessed, kissing your hand again.

“I have already found the ends of the earth, Henry.” You told him, smiling even more.

“Is that so?” He answered, lifting a brow at you.

“In you.” You said, in a soft voice and watched his cheeks pinken.

“Well, then, I shall endeavor to look no farther than you and I, for anything.” He smirked, leaning forward to kiss you on the lips, then sighed. “I do have regretful news, though.” He sighed, pulling back.

“Oh?”

“I have to leave back to Chester.” He told you, softly rubbing the tops of your hands, feeling the chill in your skin. “I have an important board meeting there that I must psychically attend. While, more than wishing, I could take you with me. I can not, just yet.” He explained to you. “It wouldn't be proper of me.”

“No, it wouldn't, would it.” You sighed back, loath to part with him, one of the only people to believe, and love, you, that you had in these trying times to support you, with your mother and aunt more concerned with themselves.

“Worry not.” Henry tried to assure you, seeing the dimming light in your eyes. “I'll return as quickly as I can. I don't leave until the morning train, so you have me that long.” He told you and smiled, hoping to see the light in your eyes come back.

“Well, let's make the most of it, shall we?” You replied, trying to put the smile back on your face, for his sake.

“We shall.” Henry nodded, smoothing his thumb over your chill reddened cheek. “Come, let's get you inside, before you catch a more permanent chill.” He said, standing and helping you to your feet, then guided you out of the garden, and back inside.

You woke the next morning, with a sick feeling in the pit of your stomach, knowing Henry wouldn't be down at the breakfast table, when you went down. You rose and pulled on your robes, not bothering to dress, for what was the use, if Henry wasn't to be there. You heard the crackle of paper inside one pocket of your robe and frowned, pulling out the folded and wax sealed parchment, slowly sitting down on the edge of your bed, you broke the seal.

_My Love,_

_How I wish I could bring you with me, away from that house of your unhappiness. I promise I will, very soon. Until then, I entrust all of my love and the contents of your other pocket, into your safe keeping. Upon my return, your days in Long Haven Manor will be few and no longer than they need be._

_Your Betrothed, Henry_

You smiled and slipped your hand into the other pocket of your robes, pulling out a beautiful golden necklace, from which hung Henry's family crest signet. You chuckled softly, blushing, and touched the ring to your lips, closing your eyes and pretending for a moment, it was Henry's hand. Folding the letter back up, you slipped the necklace around your neck, holding the ring in the fist of your hand for a long time, before getting up and going downstairs to eat breakfast.

Your spirits infinitely better than what they were.

– –

You felt a flutter of excitement as you heard the doorbell ring, unconsciously touching Henry's signet, as you rushed to greet him at the door, just as the Butler opened it, bowing. Your heart fell for a moment, when you saw it wasn't Henry at all, but it quickly rose again, seeing who it really was.

“Grace!” You cried, meeting her half way in the foyer. “How lovely it is to see you.”

“And you, y/n.” Grace grinned, throwing her arms around you. “I am so sorry it took me so long to come, but Joel and I were in France, visiting his sister, when I heard the news.” She explained to you.

“It's quite all right! You're here now.” You smiled, hugging her dearly, it had been almost two years since the last time you had seen each other. “How is Joel?” You inquired about her husband.

“Marvelous.” She assured you, holding you at arms length and looking you over. “So, it is true.” She said, touching the signet. “You're betrothed.” She grinned, excited.

“I am.” You grinned, bubbling at how happy Grace looked for you, and to have someone to talk to about him.

“You must tell me everything!” Grace told you, gripping your hands.

“Of course!” You giggled, bouncing with excitement. “Carlo, would you please bring some tea and biscuits out to the sitting room, for Grace and I?” You inquired after the butler.

“Right away, madam.” Carlo bowed to you, and glided out of the room to the kitchens.

“Come, I'll tell you everything.” You said, showing Grace into the sitting room.

“So, what's his name?” Grace asked, once you both were settled in and the tea was served.

“Henry.” You grinned at her. “Henry Cavill.”

“Is he well to do?”

“ _Very_. I heard father once say, Henry almost had more money than he did.” You chuckled, but your eyes dimmed at the mention of your father, and you didn't know how much money Henry had; and you didn't care, you loved him.

“Is he handsome?” Grace asked, sipping her tea and tactfully steering the conversation back away from your father.

“Incredibly so.” You nodded, licking your lips. “He has the most beautiful blue eyes, with a bit of brown in one. He's rather tall and strong, with gorgeous chocolate curls and a deep and rich voice. He's so well mannered and sweet, attentive and considerate. He's..” You trailed off, trying to find the words to convey to Grace how you felt.

“The knight and shining armor that you ever dreamed of and read about?” Grace summed up, you had told her enough times, while she was your nanny and friend, what kind of man you hoped to fall in love with and marry; reading about them in your books.

“So much more, Grace. He's real.” You told her, biting your bottom lip and looking over at her. “I can't wait to marry him, and be free of this dark hole in my life.” You told her with such a sincerity, it made you both misty eyed.

“How is your mother, with all of this?”

You sighed and groaned, touching the slightly faded bruise on your cheek. “She's been Mother about it. You know her, Papa was her whole life. They married, when she was sixteen, and it was arranged by her eldest brother, Michael, since her parents both died before she was ten, and Papa was twenty-eight. Then, they had August and I, when she was eighteen. When August died, at a month old, it was only because of Papa, she didn't follow him into the grave, after. But, she has my Aunt, Bella, with her. So, perhaps, she can be Mama's solace now.”

“Is Mr. Cavill your solace in this trying time?” Grace asked, frowning at you, concerned as ever about you.

“It's because of him, I can get out of bed in the mornings.” You confessed, staring into your cup of tea. “I also told him, my secret.” You added, glancing up at her, for her reaction.

Grace coughed and pressed the back of her hand to her lips, looking at you startled. “About Helena and the spirits?” She asked, setting her cup down.

“I did.” You nodded.

–

Grace believed you about seeing ghosts, from the first. But, it wasn't until a few years after, that she _really_ believed you.

Your parents were gone to Suffolk for a summer, leaving you and Grace alone at the Manor. Not a week after their departure, you woke Grace up with your screams, sending her out of bed in such a panic, she didn't even pull on a robe. She just threw open her door and raced down to yours, shivering as an icy coldness enveloped her, as she pushed open your door. You were sat up in bed, blankets bunched up in your shaking hands and looking at something outside your window, or Grace had thought it was outside your window, which in itself would be impossible, with you on the fourth floor and nothing but empty air for the three floors to the gravel ground below. A sharp pain ran up the length of Grace's back and she suddenly saw the cause of your fright. A man _hovering_ , in front of the window seat, with no legs and his head cocked at a painful side angle, as if it was about to fall clear off his shoulders. He moaned and gurgled from a wide opened and slack mouth, nothing but the blackness outside your window showing through it and his several missing teeth.

“Good heavens!” Grace had shrieked. “Leave this instant!” She barked, at a loss for what else to do.

How else did you get a ghost out of your young charge's bedroom in the dead of night? But Grace stiffened, when he slowly turned towards her, revealing the cause of his oddly angled head, its head had almost been completely cut off.

“Helena, make him leave!” You cried to the almost transparent woman floating just behind Grace.

Helena turned her ghostly head at the other spirit, her neck making a popping noise as she did. “ _Be gone._ ” She hissed at him, points in her solid black eyes, where pupils would be ordinarily, glowed a blood red color, and the male tortured spirit dissipated from sight.

–

“What did he say, when you told him?” Grace asked, taking a sip of tea, to wet her dry throat.

“He believed me.” You answered, shaking the memory out of your head. “He really had no choice. Father's spirit came here the night of his funeral.”

Grace looked even more startled. “Like, he didn't cross over?” She asked, glancing around, as if she expected him to show up, like the other ghost she'd seen, all those years before.

“That's my only assumption. Why else would his ghost be here.” You told her, glancing around the room as well. “Then again, it could have been his echo. He was born and raised in this house, and he died so suddenly and violently, it wouldn't surprise me, if some part of his soul was living in these walls, would react to it.” You sighed, upset at the thought of your father's spirit being trapped on earth.

“Henry saw him. Papa, I mean.”

“How?” Grace frowned, shaking her head at you.

“I'm guessing, the same way you saw the one in my room that night.” You replied. “Helena.”

“Such a mysterious lady.” Grace frowned. “I really wish we found something on her, when we went looking.”

You heaved a sigh, lamenting that you couldn't learn anything about Helena either. You had tried, with Grace and without. You knew where Helena lurked, when she wasn't tormenting you, with whatever Lily Hill Manor is. The old Gardener's cottage at the edge of the estate, no one lived there anymore. No one had for at least forty years, when the old gardener died of old age, and your father employed people off property to take care of the garden, not wanting the added expenditure of upkeep on the cottage. You supposed some _thing_ did live there, if you counted Helena as an occupant. Everyone on the estate, or had ever been on the estate, and went near the cottage, knew there was something strange and off about it. It was cold and dark, even in the brightest and hottest London summers, and even worse in the winters. It screamed, _stay away_ to _stay out_. You were literally the only person in the whole of England brave enough to go inside, because you knew what terror lived inside, and had stopped being afraid of it, a long time ago.

Helena and you had come to a sort of _silent_ agreement. You would tolerate her, effectively, haunting you, if she kept all the other spirits that tormented and always seemed to find their way to you, at bay. She stopped coming into your room at night, hovering above your shaking body and rambling on about you needing to go to Lily Hill Manor and save someone from their legacy, a legacy she never elaborated on; no matter how many questions you plied her with over the last sixteen years of your _special_ relationship. But, it was one of the few relationships you had that actually worked out for you, in a, mostly, positive way. It wasn't the abusive and neglectful relationship you had with your parents; for several years, your parents didn't even acknowledge your very existence in the house, making you feel like a spirit yourself. Your father would inquire to your tutors that you were excelling at your lessons, purely to make sure it was worth his money to keep paying them to teach you and give you an education. Your mother would lecture you, for hours, if a nanny decided to quit, blaming your _hysterical terrors_ , for why her and your father were forced to solicit another into caring for you.

And good Lord, don't get either of your parents started on your terrors. You had no less than three episodes a week, and when they finally couldn't take the entire year of them, they brought a physician in to examine you, asking you all sorts of questions and using all manners of instruments, until he turned to your parents as they stood, shoulder to shoulder, in front of your bedroom door and announced.

“She suffers from hysterical terrors.” He stated simply, packing his things up into his bag.

“What's the cause?” Your father asked him.

“A simple anxiety disorder, commonly found in women.” He replied, his voice indifferent and passive.

“Is there a cure?” Your mother asked.

“No. I am afraid not.” He answered, glancing at you. “She could grow out of it, or its simply gotten used too. Either way, it's permanent.” He elaborated, then left, with your parents staring at you with a mixture of disgust and disappointment, like you were some broken doll they were stuck with.

“Doesn't matter.” You sighed, eyes far off and unfocused. “It's in the past now.” You said, forcing a smile for Grace's benefit.

There were footsteps and the door of the sitting room opened, and the smile on your face instantly became authentic. Grace looked away from you, hearing the door open and the miraculous change of your face, and set her eyes on Henry, as he stood in the open doorway, grinning back at you.

“Mr. Cavill, I presume?” She asked, setting her cup down and stood, curtsying politely.

“Quite.” Henry smiled at her, blue eyes twinkling and politely took her hands. “Who might you be?” He asked, eyes darting over to you, playfully.

“This is Mrs. Grace Moore.” You told him, beaming. “She's Dr. Joel Woods Moore's wife.”

“Ah, you are the former, and lovely, nanny that cared for my sweet y/n.” Henry greeted, kissing her hand and properly bowing to her. “Y/n has told me absolutely splendid things about you.” He said, stepping away from her. “Anyone that was sweet and caring to my love, is a good person in my book.” He told her, his eyes on yours, smirking as you blushed and looked away from him.

“Henry.” You giggled, shaking your head at him.

“I've missed you.” He whispered, stepping towards you and catching your hands up in his, kissing both of them, before kissing both of your cheeks.

“It hasn't even been a day, you silly boy.” You chuckled, squeezing his hands, feeling their warmth spread up your arms and into your body.

“An hour, from you feels a day too long.” He confessed to you, gently pressing his forehead to yours with a sweet nuzzle of noses. “I see you've missed me as well.” He whispered, looking down to see his ring hanging around your neck, touching it as it rested against your clothed heart.

“Exceptionally.” You whispered back, wrapping your delicate hand around his wrist, feeling the strong beat of his heart, and met his eyes.

Grace melted at the sight of you and Henry, the love and care that poured off of him and onto you, like he was your blanket or shield against any further darkness or harm that would want to befall you. It made Grace feel irreparably proud and happy, you have someone to love and care for you, properly.

“Alas, I have a gift for you.” Henry said, perking up, and coming out of the bubble that had formed around you and him. “I really hope you like it.” He told you, giddy, and stepped away, pulling a small leather and heart-shaped box from his pocket, shooting Grace an amused smirk as she gasped; and opened the box, revealing a slim and slightly wavy, pure white-gold engagement band with two, heart-shaped, diamonds, a slight space between the two.

You gasped, smiling at him with butterflies in your stomach. “I _love_ it, Henry.” You assured him, proudly. “Thank you.” You said, softly, as he slipped it onto your finger.

“The ' _thank you_ ' is mine.” Henry replied, rubbing his finger over it on your finger, enthralled. “I daresay, I am the luckiest man to live.” He confessed, a bubble of happy love in his chest, making it feel like the buttons of his shirt would burst. “I love you.” He said, suddenly and astutely, the first uttering of the words between you.

“And, I love you.” You echoed back, feeling light on your feet.

“Oh.” Grace sighed, clasped hands tucked under her chin as she looked on at the lovers. “You two are so sweet and adoring.”

“You approve of me, then?” Henry asked, half turning to her, a sparkle of hope in his blue eyes; Henry knew how much you admired, loved and looked up to Grace, and would be overjoyed, if she approved of him for you.

“There are not enough yeses to be found in all the world.” Grace nodded and clapping her hands, excitedly.

You squealed with laughter and passion, arms wrapping around Henry's waist, hugging him. Henry relaxed feeling you against him, carefully folding you into his arms and turning his face into yours and your hair, he had never been so happy and content.

– –

Grace stayed at the Manor with you for several days, before needing to return to her husband, promising that she would attend the wedding, all you needed to do was tell her the date and she would be there before the ink dried on it. Henry posted the official announcement of your engagement to him in the papers, as-per-custom.

' _It is with great and joyous pleasure, to announce the engagement of Mr. Henry William Cavill, Esq. Owner of Cavill Enterprise and CEO of the Munro Shipping Company, born of Jersey, the Channel Islands, now resides in Chester, England, on the estate of his Father, Colin Charles Cavill's, family; to Ms. Y/n Skye McFayden, daughter of the late Sir Ulysses Dante McFayden, and Matilda Rose McFayden, nee Walker. They are to marry this forthcoming Friday, 18th of July, in the year of our lord, 1860._ '

Elias read out, after taking a newspaper from the boy at the corner squawk about them. “She's marrying that ill-bred, dirt money, lout.” He growled, then let out a primal scream of rage and crumbled up the newspaper, tearing it to pieces and threw them to the ground. “How could she!” He howled at his companion, Enoch Everly. “Her mother promised her to me!”

“She is a woman, Eli.” Enoch replied, in a nasally voice. “You shouldn't take the word of a woman.”

“I'll take more than the word of a woman.” Elias growled and shoved passed Enoch, stomping his fine French leather shoes down the street.

“Sir!” Carlo exclaimed, as Elias shoved by him and into the house. “I must ask you to leave, this instance!” He demanded.

Elias grabbed the Butler roughly by the shoulders and shook him. “Where is your mistress?” He demanded back, seething and spewing in his face.

“She is unwell, and not receiving visitors.” Carlo yelped, wincing in pain.

“I care not!” Elias howled, like a rabid dog. “Show me to her rooms!” He ordered him, shoving him towards the main stairwell, leading to the upper rooms. “Where is her brat of a daughter on top of it?” He hissed, following the butler upstairs.

“My Lady y/n, is on a small outing with her fiancé, Mr. Cavill.” Carlo babbled out. “They thought that, since it was such a nice day, there was no need to be cooped up inside.” He elaborated, needlessly, Elias's anger had amplified so much, that he stopped listening entirely, his boiling blood throbbing in his earlobes. “This is her Ladyship's room.” He said, motioning to the door to his right.

Without another moment's hesitation, Elias barged into Matilda's rooms, startling the life out of her and Bella. “What is the meaning of all this!” He screamed at the top of his lungs.

“What is the meaning _of this_?” Bella screamed back, jumping up from the seat she had beside her sister's bed. “This woman is ill and mourning, have you no concern or feeling?” She hissed, face turning redder than Elias's.

“I want to know why _this_ woman..” He pointed to Matilda, bolt upright in her bed. “has broken her promise to me, to have her daughter's hand _in mine_!” He panted, almost foaming at the mouth. “But, what do I read in the morning's paper!? Her engagement announcement to that scoundrel Cavill.” He growled, between clamped teeth.

“I tried to get Ollie to approve of your betrothal.” Matilda shook back, balling up her hands in her lap. “I tried for a month to change his mind about refusing it. But, he wouldn't listen to me.” She heaved, rocking back and forth on the feather mattress. “He told me, ' _I am waiting for the right man to make up his mind and tell me his discussion on marrying y/n._ ' He already knew Cavill was in love with her and wanted to marry her, but hadn't gotten the _balls_ to ask him permission for her hand. His mind was already made up on who she would married. He didn't care that he's got dirt in his blood; that you've the breeding of eleven generations, the money, the lands and the titles. All he cared about..” She gulped and struggled for a moment, like something was lodged in her throat.

Bella quickly poured a glass of water from a silver pitcher and handed it to her, helping her sip at it until she was better and pushed it away. “You're sure?” She whispered to her sister.

“Yes.” Matilda replied, her voice a bit rough from her yelling, and cleared her throat.

“Calmly.” Bella added, rubbing her arm. “I know it is a trying topic, but, be calm for your health.” She entreated her elder sister.

Matilda patted her baby sister's hand and looked back to Elias, who was no less furious. “All, my dear Ollie, cared about her suitor was _someone who loved her, would be kind to her, and care for her, where he, himself_ , failed.” She quoted her dead husband and sat back against her pillows.

“I demand a refute of his claim on y/n's hand.” Elias hissed, his knuckles bone-white at his side.

Matilda opened her mouth. “I'm afraid that's not possible.” Henry's voice replied for her, shocking the room. He appeared in the doorway, settling his calm and composed expression on Elias's, like an overripe berry about to burst.

“The _claim_ is substantiated, not only by Mr. McFayden, before his unfortunate death, but also by the witness, to my asking for y/n's hand and the meeting where Ulysses gave his consent for us to marry, one Thaddeus Cowell, his business partner and executor of his estate.” Henry stated firmly, calmly and proudly, his head held high; and his hand gripping yours. “It's also consented by the lovely lady, herself.” Henry added and smiled down at you, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Quite.” You stated back, with a firm nod of your head.

“I will never approve of you marrying him.” Your mother hissed, eyes burning.

You looked away from Henry, a coolness washing over you as you looked at her, pale and thinner than she once had been, dark circles made the mossy-green of her eyes pop out on her now wrinkled face. You felt something stewing inside of you for her, a hurricane of emotions, that occasionally flung out one feeling or another from it, so you can feel it for her; and realized in that moment that you had never, honestly, looked upon your mother, with love. Fear, yes. Hatred, yes, if you were deeply honest with yourself. Sorrow, that you had never, and would never, have that fond and motherly bond with her. But, as you stood there looking at her now, gripping Henry's strong hand, you felt the hurricane still and fall apart, leaving nothing behind, but pity.

“Mot-” You narrowed your eyes.

 _No._ You thought. _That word had never been right for her. You didn't owe it to her, either. She had never wanted it,–she never wanted me. Well, perhaps, before August died, she had the most fleeting moment of loving care for me._ Just maybe. _But, still she regretted your life, and you were sure she hated you for breathing and August being buried next to your father. Matilda Rose McFayden didn't earn the right for you to call her_ , Mother.

You felt Henry squeeze your hand, supporting you and fortifying you. “You've _never_ approved of anything I've done, in my life.” You said, releasing those pent-up emotions and looked up at Henry, who smiled at you, fondly, nodding his head, encouraging you to finally let it go. “But, still yet,” You looked back at her, with a slightly raised brow against the defiance to let her darken you and yours, any longer. “I've made it this far in life, without being as bitter and hateful as you are.” You told her, in a clear and cool voice, feeling a million times better for it.

“You naive bitch.” Elias's hissed.

Henry's arm tensed, but you gripped his hand in both of yours, holding him back with just that. “I am a great many things, _Mr._ Wells. But, neither of those two things.” You said, sharp and steady. “I can't say that for you, though.” You added and smirked at Henry's snort of amusement.

“With that being cleared up.” Henry smiled, more than proud of you and the situation. “My Betrothed and I have more pressing matters to discuss.” He said, looking at you with raised brows and pursed lips.

“Most indeed.” You agreed, nodding your head at him, tilting it slightly. “So many things to do.”

“Our wedding is in four days.” He smirked at the other three, left flabbergasted in Matilda's room, then tucked your hand in his arm and started to turn away with you, but paused and looked back at them, thoughtfully. “Oh, and none of you are cordially invited.”

“Or, invited at all.” You added, with the same expression and walked away with Henry, leaving them all thoroughly gobsmacked.

– –

You took a deep breath as the music started to play and you stepped up to the closed double doors that led to the altar, where your beloved Henry stood, waiting to finally call you his and his wife. You looked down at the full and snowy-white A-line dress you wore, the long and beautiful lace sleeves and matching veil. You recounted the something new, teardrop pearls Henry's mother gifted you as a welcome into the family. Something blue, something for Henry to find later, since it was his favorite color. Something borrowed, a diamond hair pin, from Grace.

Thaddeus stepped up beside you, being your father was dead, he had offered his arm, to walk you down the aisle. He had known you since Matilda was carrying you and your twin brother, August, and had been a sort of father figure to you growing up; he was always so kind and would sneak you pieces of candy, when your parents weren't looking, while he dined at the Manor.

“I will say this, before the doors open, and you start your new, and brighter, life.” Thaddeus said, softly. “Your father _was_ proud of you, he was just never sure on what to make of a daughter; and he would have been ecstatic to walk you down the aisle to the young Mr. Cavill today.” He confided in you. “In his own way.” He added with a small chuckle.

You pressed your lips together, not wanting to start crying already. “Thank you, Mr. Cowell.” You told him, squeezing his forearm. “It means the world to me, to know that. You truly have no idea of its magnitude on me.” You whispered and kissed his cheek.

Thaddeus smiled back, then carefully covered your face with the veil and offered you his arm. “To a beautiful and fruitful life.” He said, as the music hit the tone for the doors to open.

They opened and revealed the full church of family, mostly Henry's, and friends. Your eyes were first on Henry's, as he stood at the alter with the priest and his four brothers. He looked marvelous in his black suit and tie, you instantly beamed at him and he beamed back at you, swallowing down his own thick lump of tears, of happiness. But, a few tears did escape, that he didn't bother wiping away, for wiping them away would be like swiping aside his love for you, and he would never do that in all the days he lived. Your eyes glanced to Henry's right for a moment and smiled sweetly at Grace, who was your maid of honor, you could think of no one else for the part, then moved your eyes back to Henry. You stopped before him with Thaddeus and felt your heart skip and stop for several beats.

“Who gives this woman to this man?” The Priest asked.

“I do.” Thaddeus replied, nodding his head and turned to you, lifting your veil, then extended your hand to Henry's, clasping them together with both of his. “I entrust this young woman to you, Henry Cavill. Love her as and with all that you are and care for her, like your life, itself, depends on it.”

“It does.” Henry commented in a low voice, smirking at you.

Thaddeus let go of your and Henry's hands and took his place beside Grace. Henry took your hand in his and you both turned towards the priest, both of you taking a deep breath at the same time. You glanced up as the sun suddenly shined brightly through the stained glass windows of the church and smiled, taking it as a sign from, not only the heavens, but your father as well, watching over you. Henry smiled at you and squeezed your hand, feeling the same.

“Do you, Henry William Cavill, Esq. take this woman as your lawful and wedded wife, to love, cherish and hold. To put her before yourself in all things, in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?” The priest addressed Henry.

“I do.” Henry nodded, grinning at you and feeling light as air.

The Priest turned to you. “Do you, Y/n Skye McFayden, take this man as your lawful and wedded husband, to love, cherish and hold. To put him before yourself in all things, in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?” He asked you, lifting a brow, like he expected you to say no.

“I do.” You replied, proudly, and beaming at Henry, your eyes never leaving each other.

“Then, the power vested in me, by the Church of England and God, I duly announce you both, husband and wife.” The Priest continued, looking from you both and the congregation. “Mr. and Mrs. Henry William Cavill.” He looked to Henry. “You may kiss your bride.” He told him, with the same lift of a brow.

Nodding his head to the Priest, Henry turned to you and gently pulled you against him, careful of the hem to your dress, and leaned into you, it was in that moment, you felt your heart start beating again, and you leaned in the rest of the way, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissed him as deeply as you both could.

– –

“Is there anything you wish taken with you?” Henry asked, standing beside you in the foyer of Long Haven, the wedding had ended and the feast with it; it was all you both ever hoped for.

But, now, it was time for the leaving part. Leaving with your _husband_ , to Chester, to the home Henry had there, on his father's vast estate, that was only an acre smaller than Long Haven. You had struggled with his question, ever since you found out you were betrothed, before you even knew it was Henry, you would be marrying. What did you want to take with you, out of the house you were born and raised in for the first twenty-one years of your life? A place that only gave you pain, grief and despair.

“Just my books.” You replied, looking up at him, with an unguarded, but somber face.

Henry tipped his head to you, filling your wish. “As you wish.” He said softly, then looked up as Matilda appeared at the top of the stairs.

You looked up at her, letting Henry's arm go and politely curtseyed to her. _The best revenge is living well._ You thought, then turned your back to her and looked up at Henry. “I'm ready to leave this place, Henry.” You told him. “Please, take me home.” You whimpered, softly, brows furrowing.

Henry reached up and soothed the crease away from between your brow with his thumb. “Of course, my love.” He whispered, then a smirk pulled on the corner of his lip and he made a quick glance at Matilda, still staring, stooped and picked you up into his arms. “Let's go _home_ , my dearest wife.” He said, loud enough for your mother to hear, then carried you out of Long Haven Manor, for good.

– –

You and Henry decided to stay the night in London, before going to Chester. He arranged a room at the Claridge Hotel, only their finest suite would do for his y/n. But, something occurred to Henry, as you looked around the room, smiling back at him when you discovered the corner balcony off the room, overlooking the beautiful nightlife of London out and below, and came to stand behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and rested his head on your shoulder.

“Tell me, have you been anywhere _other_ than Long Haven?” He asked, turning his face into yours. “Even, for a night?”

You gulped, licking your lips and shook your head, very slightly. “No.” You muttered, quietly.

Henry frowned at you, blinking his surprised blue eyes at you, astonished. “But, doesn't your family own a summer home in Suffolk?” He asked, his mind not wrapping around it. “Surely, you've stayed there with them.”

“No.” You uttered again, shyly. “I saw it, just before it was finished being built. Then again, two or three years after it was complete, I asked my father if I could see it. I hadn't, since the first time. I had asked my mother once just before their first stay in it, but she just dismissed me. So, I asked him instead.” You explained to him, resting your hands over his. “I made the journey, my father gave me a tour of the grounds and the house, then sent me back to the Manor.”

“Christ.” Henry frowned, offended for you. “And, you've never been elsewhere?”

“No.” You shook your head, looking over the city. “Caged and sheltered. So very, very sheltered.”

“For someone so sheltered,” He said, and softly kissed your neck. “you are still incredibly learned and worldly.” He commented, nosing the back of your ear and taking a deep breath of your skin.

“Well, even a bird can see between the bars of its cage.” You commented, turning your own nose into his soft curls.

“Come away from here, it's cold.” Henry whispered against your neck and pulled you backwards, away from the window and the wintry chill settling over London.

“It's not the cold that gives me goosebumps.” You replied, closing the double balcony doors as you let Henry guide you backwards, back into the room.

“I'm sure.” He chuckled, eyes glancing up to meet yours as he nibbled on your neck and stood up straight, turning your around, he could see the shy worry in your eyes and kissed your lips. “Are you hungry?” He asked, hearing your stomach growl inside your corset.

“I am.” You nodded, blinking at him, but you felt something slightly more wanting than food.

“Then, let's order something to eat.” Henry smiled and kissed your forehead, wanting to put you in as much ease as he could, not wanting you to think all he wanted was to bed you, as soon as possible.

He didn't want to bed you as soon as he could get you into one, he wanted to enjoy you and your wedding night. So, he ordered what you both wanted to eat, with a bottle of champagne to celebrate a bit more. He was worried about you, being it was your first night sharing a bed with him, your first time sleeping anywhere that wasn't in your bedroom at the Manor, and also knowing you were very much a virgin. Henry was sure you were worried, anxious and terrified about all three of those things, but were putting on a brave face.

The hour grew late, the food was finished and the champagne ran dry, you and Henry sat close to each other, legs and sides pressed against each other, Henry's hand resting on the seat of the couch behind you, his face close to yours as he smiled at you, watching and listening to you laugh at one of his jokes, both your faces warmed by the alcohol. You leaned forward suddenly and kissed him, cupping his face in your hands, a burst of bravery coursing through you from food, drink and the comfort Henry's presence always gave you. Henry held still, but his lips moved hungrily with yours, but he gathered you up into his arms, when you moaned at the feel of his tongue touching your slightly parted lips. Pulling you into his lap and circling his tongue into your mouth, soliciting another moan from you, followed by a soft whimper as the ties of your corset slowly started to loosen.

“Ssshh.” He hushed you, standing up and carrying you with him, setting you down on the edge of the bed. “I must admit, I am no virgin.” He told you, pulling off his boots and knelt before you.

“I must admit--” You paused, taking a deep breath.

Henry's eyes grew, had he misjudged you. His head tilted, waiting.

“I knew you weren't.” You continued. “A virgin.” You clarified, making both of you blush. “I had you for a moment.” You chuckled at him.

“Admittedly.” Henry smirked, laughing and shaking his head. “Not, that it would have mattered to me, had you not been.” He elaborated, his warm fingers slipping underneath your skirt and curled them around the garter around your thigh, slowly sliding it down and off. “Oh,” Henry smirked up at you, amused. “Something _blue_.”

“I know it is your favorite color, and thought you would find it amusing.” You smiled back at him, every centimeter of your skin, tingling under his touch.

“I do, indeed.” Henry nodded, wrapping the warm lace around his hand for a moment, before setting it aside.

“May I?” You asked, motioning to his shirt.

Henry blinked at you, then nodded his head. You stood in your loosened corset, and thankful for it, since you were starting to breathe hard. You lifted your hands and carefully tugged open the ties of his shirt at his throat, letting your fingers glided down his chest, to pull his shirt free from his trousers and slipped them inside. Pressing your palms flat against his toned and pleasantly warm stomach, Henry gulped and licked his lips, looking down at you, his chest rising and falling quickly, trembling at your touch. He picked up his arms, grabbing the back of his collar and slowly pulled it off, tossing it aside, carelessly. His hands moved to the skirt of your dress, his eyes on yours, as he gently tugged on the fabric and it pooled around your legs, leaving you in your corset and chemise, the former he disposed of, with your soft nod. Henry wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him and picked you up, with great ease, and set you beside the pile of your removed clothing, touching his thumb and the back of his knuckles to your cheek.

“Take your time.” He told you, softly. “There's no need to rush, _wife_.” He said to you, sweetly.

“Hm.” You hummed back, taking the ties of his pants in your fingers. “ _Husband_.” You smirked at him, pulling them free and carefully tugged them down his thick thighs, licking your lips at his nakedness.

Henry tipped your head back to look up at him, a soft smirk on his lips as he looked down at you. “Lay down.” He whispered, kissing you tenderly.

Nodding, you moved away from him, pulling back the blankets and laid down on the bed, biting your lip as you watched him move about the room and blow out all the candles, plunging the room into darkness. He moved slowly, sitting down on the edge of the bed, resting his hand on your thigh and moving it up, pushing your chemise with it. You gasped softly as he touched your hip, and laid down on his side, next to you, tugging the blankets up to your hips. He leaned over you, pressing his lips to yours, kissing you slowly as his hand moved around your thigh, between your legs and underneath your chemise; his fingers finding their destination. You whimpered against Henry's lips, shifting against his fingers as they touched your folds, toes curling at the strange, but pleasurable feel.

“Do you want me to stop?” He asked against your mouth.

“No.” You panted back, shaking your head and cupping his cheek. “Please don't.”

“I won't.” He whispered back. “Unless, you wish it.” He added, deepening the kiss, slipping the tip of his tongue along yours.

You let out a loud moan, feeling the tip of his finger move between your folds and tease your sensitive nub, your eyes fluttering behind your closed lids. Henry pulled back, looking down at your shadowed face and licking his lips, tasting you on them. He watched your face and eyes, watching for any change in them that you didn't like what he was doing, or it hurt; carefully pushed one thick digit into your core.

“Relax.” Henry cooed at you, delicately kissing the bridge of your nose. “It'll pass.” He promised you, settling his finger inside of you, so warm and wet.

Henry let you relax and get used to the new feeling, before gently moving it in and out of you, crooking it every now and then, finding your sweet spot, easily, and teased it. He loved watching your face, the pleasure that was in it as he touched you, the sweet sounds you made and how you said his name, so quietly. Distracted, Henry added another of his fingers, your hand gripped the sheets beneath you, back pushing off the bed as both of them played with your sweet spot.

“Ah, yes.” Henry grinned, seeing the beautiful change in your face and feeling it in your body. “That's it, love.” He whispered and licked his lips, growing harder at the sight of you getting closer to coming. “Follow it. Let yourself feel it, y/n.” He murmured to you, kissing your cheek and temple.

“Henry.” You gasped suddenly, gripping his bicep as you came around his fingers.

“Y/n.” He whispered back, removing his fingers from inside of you and pulled you onto your side, facing him and draped your leg over his hip, pushing your chemise up above your own hips.

He bundled you up into his arms, your head resting on his bicep as his one hand caressed your spine, you still so lost in the bliss of your orgasm. Henry reached between your bodies with his other hand, taking himself in his hand and carefully guided the tip of his member into you and gently pushed in, hugging his arm around his waist, nuzzling and kissing your hair. Your heavy eyes crossed at the feel of his cock filling you, stretching you open more than his fingers, but it still felt good to your pleased core, hugging your leg around his waist and pressing your body against his.

“Henry.” You said his name softly, tipping your head back and kissing underneath his jaw and his throat.

“Y/n.” He grinned, more than content with your happiness and pleasure. “Ssshh, my love.” He hushed you as you moaned and rolled your hips against his, moving him against you as he settled as deeply inside of you as possible. “Go to sleep, it's been a long day.” He whispered into your ear, kissing it gently.

“What about you?” You asked, sleepy and comfortable, even with Henry warmed inside of you.

“Don't worry, sweetheart.” He told you, caressing your hair away from your face. “We have all the time in the world.” He promised, tugging the blankets up the rest of the way and rested his chin atop your head, tucking you, peacefully, against his strong body.

You fell asleep just like that, wrapped up in Henry's arms, warmed by his skin and filled up with him, feeling incredibly safe with him, the worry of your first night as a wife and outside the familiarity of your childhood home vanishing. Henry moved his head down, burying his nose into your hair, comforted by your closeness and your scent. Neither of you could be happier.


	3. Part III

Strong fingers massaged your hip and lower back, making you moan softly in your sleep. Henry smiled listening to you react to his touch, biting his lip as you snuggled in closer to him, and leaned in to press his lips to your forehead. He couldn't explain how happy he was to open his eyes and the first thing he saw was your sleeping face. His mind drifting back to the night before, when he pleasured you, then to the more recent, within the wee hours of the morning. Both of you woke some time around two or three am, finding your bodies and sub-consciousnesses had grown impatient in, waiting for all the time in the world, started working together in unison, and you both were in the height of it by the time either of you realized it consciously, but you didn't waste what had begun. It was blissful and better than you thought it would be.

“You just like touching me, don't you?” Your sleepy voice asked, resting your hand on his side.

Henry blushed like a taught schoolboy. “I do, you have beautiful skin.” He answered, gliding the tips of his fingers up your spine. “Everything about you is beautiful.” He whispered, kissing your temple as you blushed and hid your face in his chest. “Did you sleep well?” Henry asked, tucking your hair behind your dainty ear.

“I slept very well.” You nodded, smiling at him and rested your hand on his stubbly cheek, kissing him softly on the lips.

It had to be the first night you could remember, even as a small child, that you didn't either have dreams of spirits or got a visit from one, it was nice and refreshing, especially since it didn't ruin your wedding night.

“Good.” Henry smiled, kissing you back.

You and Henry cuddled in bed for a little while longer before getting up to start the day, ordering breakfast and eating together. You sat at the table, sipping your cup of tea and watched Henry strip his shirt back off and take up the silver-tip badger hair brush from its stand and whipped it up in the soap he had in the bowl, the delicate scent of sandalwood reaching you at the table. Henry lathered his face, picked up his straight razor and opened it, leaning closer to the mirror and started to shave, his movements were easy and smooth, so practiced and self-assured; you rather enjoyed watching Henry while he shaved. He wiped the blade on the towel folded on the table in front of him, catching your eye in the mirror and smiled. You smiled back, unashamed to be caught staring at him. Finished up, Henry wiped the excess soap off his face and put on a bit of aftershave, then turned to you, still content in paying attention to him, and felt a light flutter in the pit of his stomach.

“Are you ready to leave London?” He asked, going back to his bedside table and picked up his pocket watch.

“I am.” You nodded, setting your empty cup on its saucer and stood, fetching your shoes from where you took them off by the door, after you and Henry arrived at the suite, and put them on. “You?” You asked back.

“Very much so.” Henry nodded, opening his watch and checking the time. “Well, we have just enough time to take a carriage to the station.” He said, closing it and tucked it into his pocket.

“How long will it take to get to Chester?” You asked, tying up your laces.

“Just about three hours, then a twenty minute ride to the house.” He replied, pulling on his jacket and fixing his tie. “Your things should be at the house already as well.” He added, with an encouraging smile.

“I can't wait.” You smiled back.

“Shall we?” Henry asked, offering his arm to you.

“We shall.” You nodded, standing up and taking his arm, allowing him to lead you out the door.

Henry already had a carriage waiting for you and him and helped you inside it. You felt excited about leaving London, about going on your first train ride, seeing the home that would become yours now that you and Henry were married, it all made you so giddy; like a bird, that had its cage door opened and freed into the fresh air and sunshine. Henry felt the tremble in your hand as he held it, resting on his thigh, and glanced at you, concerned you were getting overwhelmed with all the changes that were happening to you. But, what he saw in your face wasn't fear or even worry, you were smiling as you looked out the carriage window, to city rolling by, the early morning streets alive with people going to and from work, vendors setting up their stalls to start selling their goods, the sky brightening into what would no doubt be a beautiful day. He relaxed assured you'd be fine and smiled, when you glanced back to smile at him, squeezing your hand, relieved. Arriving at the station, Henry helped you out of the carriage and you both found your way to the platform.

“Your tickets?” the conductor asked, stepping up to you and Henry.

“Of course.” Henry smiled, slipping his hand into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out the two train tickets, handing them over.

“Private First class.” The Conductor read off the tickets. “Have a good trip, Mr. and Mrs. Cavill.” He bid you, handing the tickets back to Henry and stepped out of the way.

“You as well.” Henry smiled back, tucking the tickets away and nodded his head to the gentleman. “This way, love.” He grinned at you, and escorted you a little way down the platform and opened a compartment door and helped you inside.

“Pretty.” You said, looking around the cabin.

“It's quite cozy.” Henry chuckled, securing the door.

You sat down, carefully smoothing the skirt of your dress and Henry took a place beside you, situating himself so you could see out the window, once the train started going, so you could watch the city melt away into the countryside, then meld into the city of Chester. You gasped at the loud whistle of the train, startling, but Henry gripped your forearm and pat your hand.

“It's all right.” He assured you. “They're just signaling that we're ready to pull out of the station.”He explained, just as the first jolt of the train and its cars started forward. “It took me a little while to get used to it.”

“You were probably a child though.” You answered, biting your lip as you looked at him.

“I was five, the first time I was on a train.” He chuckled. “My family lived in Jersey, where me and my brothers were born, where my mom was born too. When my father finally took ownership of Munro and Cavill Enterprises finally got off the ground, my dad thought it best we lived in England. The trip to London was so much easier than it was from St. Helier. So, we fared across from there, then took a train to the estate, he had built on his father's land.”

“Where your grandfather's farm is?” You asked, lifting a brow at him.

“Mmhm.” Henry nodded, smirking. “My father bought several of the surrounding acres of land around it and built the house my parents currently live in, and my brothers and I were raised in. All my brothers and their families have a house built on the land, or a property next door. We like being close, which makes visiting the nieces and nephews easier.”

“You're an uncle?” You smiled at him, charmed at the thought.

“I am.” Henry beamed, proudly. “My eldest brother, Piers, has a son and daughter. Nik as a son. Simon has two daughters and a little boy and Charlie has a step-daughter and two boys.” He explained. “They stayed behind with their mothers, but you'll meet them soon enough.”

“I look forward to it.” You smiled back, excited to meet the rest of Henry's family.

You had met his brothers and parents at the wedding, and really loved them. They were so nice and polite to you, so affectionate and loving, especially when they had just met you. Marianne, Henry's mother, was so incredibly sweet; the amount of love she has for Henry was more than you had ever seen from a mother before, always smiling at him and calling him adorable little pet names, and kissing his cheek. She was just the same with her other sons, never missing a beat. His father, Colin, ever the gentleman and well mannered, making you understand how it was Henry became the man he is. Colin looked, and was, immensely proud of all his sons, but he seemed to be a bit more proud of Henry; you couldn't blame him. You were endlessly proud of your new husband, yourself. His brothers took an instant liking to you, teasing Henry that if they weren't already married, they would fight him over you. But, like their father and brother, they were perfect gentlemen with and towards you, Simon and Charlie already referred to you as, Little Sis.

“Sleepy after last night, Henry?” You teased him, as he yawned.

“Quite.” He chuckled, cheeks warming.

“Why don't you rest then?” You suggested, shifting to get yourself comfortable.

“I don't want to leave you alone.” Henry frowned, shaking his head.

“I won't be alone.” You smiled, giggling. “You'll be right here, if I need you.”

“All right.” He nodded, yawning again, shifting so he could rest his head on your shoulder.

You kissed Henry's curls and rested your hand on his leg, rubbing his thigh to help him relax. You smiled when his leg relaxed under your palm and his soft snores reached your ears. Relaxing with him and staring out the window, watching the buildings to the city of London become fewer and fewer, until they gave way to fields and trees.

“Help me?” Someone rasped.

“Jesus.” You gasped, startled.

“Y/n?” Henry whimpered, frowning.

“Nothing, sweetie.” You cleared your throat, running your fingers through his hair and gently patting his cheek. “Just saw something out the window.” You told him, eyeballing the female spirit sitting on the bench across from you and Henry. “What do you want?” You asked her, very softly, pressing your palm to Henry's ear, that was close to your mouth.

“Help me.” the Spirit hissed again.

“Yes, yes.” You nodded, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment, gathering yourself. “I understand you want help, love. I do, honestly.” You told her, opening your eyes again. “But, I need to know _why_ you're still here.” You said and licked your lips, if you were going to help her cross over, you needed to know what her unfinished business was.

“My husband.” She whined back. “Where is my husband?”

You frowned at her. “This isn't going to be easy.” You sighed. “What year is it?”

“1838.” She wheezed back.

“Twenty-two years.” You whispered to yourself, and judging by how elderly the spirit looked, seventy at least, her husband was likely older than her, and dead as well.

Then, something occurred to you, in 1838, there was a horrible train accident, the train skipped the rail going too fast and crashed, killing just over half of the passengers and crew onboard. Your throat tightened around a lump of tears as you looked over at her, she looked so terrified. She must have died in the crash, more than likely with her husband. Your heart pounded in your chest, you hurt so much for her. You took several deep breaths, trying to calm yourself down.

“I am so sorry, love.” You said, in a tight voice. “He's gone.” You told her, as delicately as you could. “He passed and crossed over, a very long time ago. You need to go with him now.” You held your hand out to her, gulping. “Take my hand, dear.”

She did nothing for a moment, before levitating to you, still in a seated position, her hands on her clutch in her lap, pressed to her pudgy middle, until she finally reached you and extended one of her hands, a translucent and smoky-gray color. Her fingers brushed through yours, the chill of them raising the hairs along your arm. You curled your fingers in towards your palm, like you could hold her fragile hand in yours.

“Say it.” You said, softly. “Think of him and say his name.” You instructed her, looking into her ghostly face.

The spirit smiled suddenly. “Robert.” She said her husband's name.

The air in the cabin changed all of a sudden, going icy cold, the heat of your and Henry's breath mingling together in a white mist, the window of the cabin frosted over. You watched the image of the woman blur and become wavy, like she was losing focus on the physical world. She gasped and shriveled up into a small orb of light, hovering in the air between the two benches, before blinking out of existence.

“Be in peace.” You whispered, relaxing your body and resting back against the seat.

“Y/n?” Henry's sleepy voice whispered.

“Yes, my love?” You replied, blinking the tears out of your eyes.

“Why is it so cold?”

“Um,” You choked, pulling the lace handkerchief out of your sleeve and wiped your face. “I don't know, sweetie. I'm sure—it” You almost lost a handle on your tears, but recovered. “it'll pass in a few moments. Go back to sleep.” You told him stroking his curls, tenderly. “Henry.” You added his name in a whisper.

– –

You stepped out of the carriage and looked up at the marvelous three floor manor, it was made of a white washed stone and red brick, a turret at each corner and a garden that surrounded it, the stone driveway lead from the large, front and double doors, into a circle around a beautiful fountain. You thought it was gorgeous, the so many windows, open and shining light inside.

“Oh!” You gasped as a large dog raced out of the open doors, with a bark.

“Oh!” Henry exclaimed, his face shining with delight. “My love, forgive me!” He turned to you, taking your hand in his. “I forgot to tell you about Kal, my dog. You needn't worry about him, y/n. He may look like a beast of a bear, but he is sweeter than I am.” He assured you, brushing your cheek. “Kal, sit.” He snapped firmly at the black and white fur-ball, who instantly skid to a stop and sat down at your and Henry's feet. “Kal, this is y/n. Your new mum.” He teased, smirking at you both. “Y/n, this is my dog, who I like to amusingly call, my fur-son.” He chuckled.

“Your fur-son.” You giggled, shaking your head at him, seeing how friendly Kal was.

“Yes. His name is Kal.” Henry told you, patting him on the head. “He's a very good boy, he protects the house, and he'll protect you, whenever I'm gone.”

“Well.” You sighed, fixing your eyes on Kal. “That makes me feel doubly safer, having the both of you to protect me.”

“I do hope you both become fast friends.” Henry confessed, a slight worry in his blue eyes.

“I am assured we will.” You smiled at him and scratched Kal under the chin, chuckling as Kal licked your hand.

“You love him, then?” He asked, hopeful.

“My dear husband, I didn't think it possible for me to love anyone or thing more than you.” You told him, looking between them. “But, I believe, I thought too soon on that matter, for I love him just as much.” You smiled, feeling a big space grow in your heart for the Akita, you had always wanted a pet, and had tried several times to talk your parents into one, when that didn't work, you would adopt the wild life that frequented the garden in Long Haven. “So, yes. I love him.”

“Oh, thank the heavens.” Henry let out in a relieved sigh. “Come, Kal. Let's take mummy inside and show her the house.” He said, stooping to scoop you p into his arms, making you laugh, high and clear, wrapping your arms about his neck. “Welcome home, y/n.” Henry said, carrying you over the threshold. “Welcome _home_.” He added, whispering it into your ear and holding your eyes, his whole heart hoping that you would find a better home here, with him, than you ever had before in Long Haven.

“It feels like home already, Henry.” You whispered back, holding his eyes.

“It prides me to know that.” He replied, carefully setting you down on your feet. “Come, I have a surprise for you.” He said, taking your hand and leading you upstairs to the second floor.

Your feet were softened by the rich rug that ran the length of the hall, that was bright and cheery full of opened door ways, but one. It was this closed door that Henry stopped before and turned to you, grinning and excited for your reaction on what was on the other side.

“I know,” He gulped, biting his lip. “I know how much you love to read.”

“As you well should.” You laughed, recounting the five large trunks full of your books that were packed the day before to be sent here, ahead of your and Henry's arrival.

“So, one of the things, I made sure of, was this.” He said, turning the knob of the door and pushed it open, revealing a large and spacious library. “It's all yours. Every shelf, I have my own, for I fear all the books we have read, and will read, won't fit in a single room together.” He looked inside the room. “I may have to have an addition added to the house for all of them. But, I'm content on building an entire other manor for them, if it pleases you.”

“You just might.” You answered, stepping into the library and looking it over.

It had tall, floor to ceiling bookcases built into the four walls, five large windows and the rounded corner of the room, where the turret supported one of them, was converted into a comfortable window seat, looking out over the pound, to the side of the grounds. There was a small fireplace along one wall with an empty space above its mantle.

“The bookcases are mostly bare, even with your own books put up in them.” Henry said, looking at the one wall of bookcases filled with your brought books. “I didn't exactly know what you loved to read and didn't want to presume. So, I had the others left bare, you can fill them with whatever you wish.” He elaborated, watching you carefully move about the room, your fingertips gliding over the shelves and peeking out the bright windows.

“I love it, Henry.” You told him, turning to look at him, grinning. “I love it so much. I can't wait to fill them.”

“One more thing, then.” He smiled. “My library, and study, is just here.” He showed you, crossing to the open door across from yours, it was slightly similar, but was filled up with things, a desk and table, a small leather couch and a world globe. Henry rushed over to his desk and picked up a cloth-bound object and brought it back to you. “I know, you do have a very particular fancy for Dickens, and he just had a new book published last year, I noticed you didn't have yet.”

You frowned up at him, but untied the string holding the cloth around the book and removed that, turning it over and opening the front covers, instantly smiling. “ _The Tale of Two Cities_.” You had heard about the new novel from the quick snippets of the newspaper reviews you'd seen, while your father breakfasted, but hadn't gotten the nerve to ask him to buy it for you, now you didn't need to. “Thank you so very much.” Bouncing on your toes with excitement and clutching the book in your hands, impatient to start reading it.

“It's my truest pleasure.” Henry smiled, squeezing your arm. “Shall I show you upstairs to our rooms?” He asked, lifting his brows and biting his lip.

“Of course.” You nodded at him. “Lead the way.” You said, stepping out of the way of the door.

Henry took your hand and led you back down the hallway, clear to the other side and up the stairs to the top floor of the Manor and down the hall to the double doors, pushing open one of them and stepping out of your way, bowing to you politely, a teasing glint in his eye as you stepped into the rooms. There was a sitting and breakfast room and a huge fireplace and windows, then through a pair of pocket doors was the spacious bedroom and master bathroom.

“This is incredible.” You gasped, seeing the soaking claw-foot tub.

“The luxuries money affords.” Henry grinned, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you back against him, kissing the top of your head. “It looks so tempting, doesn't it?” He asked, whispering into your ear. “I haven't used it yet, just the shower.”

“Are you afraid of baths?” You asked, resting your head back against his shoulder to look up at his face. “Can you not swim?” You teased him.

“Oh, I am not afraid and I can swim, quite well actually.” He informed you, tipping his face down to yours. “I just haven't found a good enough reason to soak in a tubful of water.”

You bit the inside corner of your lip. “Might I give you a good enough reason to do so, after dinner?” You grinned, tapping your fingertips along his fingers, like playing a piano key.

Henry grinned back at you, hugging your firmer to him. “You can.” He bowed his head and kissed you, passionately on the lips.

There came a ring throughout the house, catching you and Henry's attention.

“It must be my family, come to greet and welcome us home.” Henry smiled, letting go of you and going out of the rooms; you followed on his heels. “Abby?” He frowned at the housekeeper, when she didn't usher in his family, as normal. “Who is it?”

“A gentleman from London, sir.”

You and Henry glanced at each other, alarmed.

“Show him in.” Henry told her, his features set and body tense.

You stood several steps behind Henry, tense and on edge. Who could have dared to follow you and Henry from London? Surely not, Elias! It would be madness to chase you here, could his heated passion and hatred be that hot, he'd do such a thing? The appearance of the gentleman put both, you and Henry, at ease.

“Thaddeus!” Henry exclaimed, stepping forward with his hand held out to greet him. “What are you doing here, man?” He asked, shaking his hand, confused. “We just saw you yesterday!”

“I am aware, and I apologize for intruding into your household.” Thaddeus said, looking between you and Henry. “I know, it is your first night as husband and wife under this roof. But, I have news.” He told you, looking deeply troubled. “About your father's death.”

Your eyes grew wide and your mouth fell open. “Surely.” You blinked, closing your mouth.

“Come.” Henry said, clasping Thaddeus's shoulder and stirring him towards the sitting room. “My love.” He held his hand out to you, his blue eyes as big as yours. “Y/n.” He said softly, moving to you and cupping your face in his hands and pressed his lips to your forehead. “I am with you.” He whispered, looking into your eyes.

“It'll be all right, whatever it is he tells us. I promise.”

“Henry.” You whimpered.

“Yes.” He pressed, when you didn't speak for a long moment.

“Don't make promises, you can't keep.” You told him, looking up at him, meekly.

Henry closed his eyes and kissed your forehead again, before escorting you into the sitting room, getting you situated into a chair, ordering Abby to bring you something to fortify your nerves, and only then, did he allow Thaddeus to speak on what he had come to say.

“As you both know,” Thaddeus started, sipping his own glass of brandy. “Your father was on a business trip to Southampton.”

“I am.” You nodded, feeling the ribs of your corset dig into your sides.

“The client he was meant to be meeting with, one Napoleon Marshall of York.”

“Napoleon Marshall,” Henry frowned at him, brow creased. “of York.” He sounded completely thrown off and unconvinced. “That has to be the silliest name I have _ever_ heard.”

Thaddeus chuckled at him and nodded his head. “It really is.”

“Have you found him?” You asked, unable to take the waiting for an answer.

“That is the rub.” Thaddeus sighed and took another sip of his drink. “The name is a fake. There is no such man, whether an alias or a fake, we can not tell.”

“Either way, it is no real man.” Henry summed up, looking at you.

“Exactly.” Thaddeus frowned. “But, the coroner confirmed, that your father was, indeed, _murdered_.” He said, in an ominous tone. “Not, that that could be argued. He was stabbed a great many times about the chest and arms.

You wilted and your face drained of color, but you didn't lose strength. “You know nothing beyond that; the meeting was a fake and he was executed. So, the proceeding for the matter of his mysterious death is, at a standstill.”

“Yes.” Thaddeus said slowly, nodding his head slightly and grew concerned for your wellness.

“What more can you do, beyond that?” Henry asked, kneeling before you and resting his hands on your knees, as concerned for your health.

Thaddeus looked between the pair of you, unsure he should say anymore before you, concerned by your color. But, none the less proceeded. “There is not, until and unless, there is more evidence against the crime.” He said carefully, biting his chapped lips. “They will keep the matter open, just in case.” He added, hoping that would bring you cheer or color; and seemed to put a teeny bit of color in your cheeks.

“That is— _nice_ —of them.” You whimpered, swallowing thickly, your shaking hand reaching out for Henry's.

“It is.” Henry nodded, looking up at you, anguished. “Mr. Cowell, would you be so kind to stay here tonight. It is late and the ride to the nearest inn is almost an hour away.” He said, only glancing at the older man. “Mrs. Cavill and I would be—honored—to have you as our first _official_ guest.”

You nodded, taking Henry's lead. “Very much so.” You glanced at Thaddeus, giving him a timid smile.

“I would equally be honored to be so.” He nodded, smiling softly back at you.

“Excellent.” Henry forced a grin and carefully pulled you to your feet. “Why don't you rest for a short while before dinner, my love. It's been a long day with the train and carriage ride.” He said softly, gripping your hand, ready to catch you should you fall or faint.

“I think that's a good idea.” You nodded and started for the door.

“I'll go with her, then entertain you back down here, Mr. Cowell.” Henry whispered to him, as you made it to the stairwell. “Darling?” He muttered and came up behind you, only halfway up the stairs by the time he left Thaddeus. “Y/n.” He gasped as your legs gave way, catching and lifting you into his arms, your head fell heavily against his shoulder. “It's all right, honey.” Henry cooed at you, his brow deeply creased and pinched.

Henry carried you upstairs to the master bedroom and laid you down on the bed, pulling and tugging at the tight strings of your shoes and removed them, then helped you sit up and loosen the stays of your corset. “Here.” He poured you a glass of water and helped you sip it.

“I am sorry.” You whimpered, cradling the crystal glass in your trembling hands. “I just--”

“Ssshh, my sweet.” Henry shook his head, grabbing the sides of your head and pressing his forehead against yours, rocking back and forth. “It is more than fine, my dove.” He hummed, sitting on the edge of the bed, still swaying with you, trying to comfort you any way he could. “I understand, y/n. I do. Rest, please. I do not want you to become ill.”

“Henry.” You gulped, gripping his wrists. “Henry. Oh god, Henry.”

“I know, baby. I know.” He sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. “Here, I know what could help you.” He got up and moved around the large bed, taking up the Dickens book he had gotten you. “Lay back.” He bid you, fluffing the pillow for your head and flipped the book open, clearing his throat. “ _It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope—_ ” He read out loud to you, holding the book in the fingers of his right hand and tenderly rubbing your leg with the left, his gold wedding band glinting in the candle light.

Slowly, you drifted off to sleep, lulled by the tender and deep tone of Henry's voice. When Henry was sure you were asleep and comfortable, marking the page he stopped on with a ribbon bookmark and set it on the bedside table, he plucked a cashmere throw blanket off the back of a chair and covered you with it, caressing your hair off your face and kissed your forehead, lightly. Henry watched you sleep for several long moments, torn about leaving you, but he couldn't neglect his duties as host to Thaddeus. So, Henry quietly left the room and went back downstairs to the sitting room, assuring the elder that you were resting well and much recovered.

Your dream was dark, like all the light had been sucked out of the room, but you could hear an echo of something in the darkness with you, the dull thud of a drum and a crackle of a raging fire, you could feel the heat of it, the vibration of the drum. Something grabbed you, tight around the arms, binding them to your sides and winding down the length of your body, snaking around your knees. You struggled, but could not move and the heat around your body grew more intense, making your skin feel singed. Screams filled your ears, yours or from another, you could not tell, it was all around you, the flames crept up your body, making you struggle more.

“ _No, no no!_ ” You screamed, finding your voice. “ _Henry!_ ” You cried, the part of your mind that was aware, dearly hoped you were truly crying out for him, to wake you from this hell. “ _Please, no!_ ” You sobbed and thrashed against your bonds. “ _Somebody, help!!_ ”

Suddenly, the darkness was ripped away from you and you could see again, but you were not yet away. Your face was wet with tears and your legs were scorched black, you were in the master bedroom of Henry's Manor, that was plain enough for you to see, but what was even more plain for you to see was the visitor you had.

“ _Helena!_ ” You screamed, shocked to see her here, so far from the home, she had haunted for however many years. “ _Helena, why! Why, why—why are you showing me this! What is this?_ ” You begged her, feeling the burnt skin of your feet crack and bleed, the excruciating pain it gave you. “ _SPEAK TO ME, DAMN IT!_ ” You shrieked at her, tearing at your hair, rope burns around your wrists and forearms. “ _I can no longer take your silence and your indecisive whisperings! Answer!_ ”

“ _You must save him from his legacy._ ” Helena hissed at you.

Your body shook, hands clenched so tight into fists, blood dripped from the broken nail-marks in your palms, and screamed at the top of your lungs, vocal cords and soul, eyes bulging and streaming with tears. A rush of air charged at you, making you choke on your guttural wail as a burning hot pain shot through your chest, eyes losing focus as several more fired across your body, like a gun shot. Your eyes focused, finally, and you no longer saw Helena hovering before you, but another spirit.

“Papa.”

You let out in a raspy gasp, the blood in your body like ice water as you saw the bloody knife in his hand, looking down at your body, full not of firing balls, but stab wounds; stab wounds that matched the wounds his corpse, and his spirit, also wore. “You're still here, Papa. Oh dear god, you are still here on earth.”

“ _You must find my killer, y/n, or I will not rest._ ” He groaned at you, moaning like he was still in great pain.

“ _Tell me who, Papa! Please-please, tell me who he is and I will have you avenged._ ” You begged him, reaching out for him.

“ _Death,_ ” He rasped, gazing blankly around the room. “ _Death is such a far fall from grace, no money can buy you into heaven, or out of hell. But, first you must aid those that we have wronged, setting him free, and revealing another, the real murderer._ ”

You scrubbed your bloody hands through your messy hair, smearing blood over your forehead and face. “ _Why must Ghosts all speak in riddles and metaphors? Oh dear god!_ ” You whined as another Ghost appeared, “ _What is this, Christmas nig--_ ” You cut yourself off as the ghost flashed into your face and dragged its blunted tips down your soiled face and wrapped its fingers around your throat.

“ _You only feel a drop in the ocean of our pain and sorrow._ ” It told you in a creaky voice.

“I don't understand, nor know who you are!” You whined, terrified.

“ _Let me show you._ ” It growled, squeezing even harder.

– –

Pendle was the last place you would think a witch trial would happen.

But, one did.

Thirteen women were convicted of the crime of being a witch, the wife of the devil himself. Everyone of them was tried, found guilty, and they were all very much guilty of the crime and then some, finally they were put to execution. Seven were tied to a stack from the shoulders to the ankles, thick black hoods pulled over their heads; for they had no rights to cry and look unto the heavens for forgiveness. Two were hung, by the neck, until dead. One was disemboweled and beheaded. Another two had large boulders tied about their feet and were shoved into a lake.

But, the last one.

The strongest one, at that.

Escaped.

She managed, and to this day it is up for debate how she managed it, to disappear from her dark hole of a dungeon. Officials claim she had help in the successful escape. The townspeople firmly believe it was through her witchcraft that she escaped. The latter is more correct than the former, but the former was honestly still true as well. For, she had twelve of her sisters at her hand, no longer forcefully bound to their earthly bodies, their power was tenfold.

Once escaped, the witch went to the only place she knew where to go, in hopes that no one would find here there, so far away from the eyes that only knew her as a witch, who only knew her as Helena Marie Shaw, and not Helena Marie McFayden. She made the trip to Long Haven Manor, seeking the asylum of her brother, Walter Clark McFayden, in a large estate in London.

“ _My dear sister!_ ” He greeted her, after she was shown into the Manor, hugging her dearly. “ _It is so lovely to see you, my love!_ ” He then looked around expectantly to see another with her. “ _Where is Evan?_ ” He inquired, frowning at her.

“ _My dearest husband, my beloved Evan._ ” Helena cried, throwing herself upon him. “ _He has died. A dreaded illness has taken him, and his family has cast me out. Left me penniless, I have nowhere to turn or lay my head, Walt. Whatever shall I do?_ ”

Walter huddled his baby sister into his arms and shushed her. “ _Come now, Nellie. Do not be so silly. You will stay here with Sara and I. We have more than enough room for you, and can manage your comfort without thought._ ”

“ _Oh, thank you, Wallie! Thank you, you have saved my very life!_ ”

And so it was, Helena hid in Long Haven Manor for nearly a year, before her nature and crime finally found her in London from Pendle. It came banging on Long Haven's doors, the scratches are still there on those doors, two hundred and forty-seven years later. When the mob broke into the house and demanded the witch and heretic be handed over for just due course.

“ _I demand to know the meaning of this! This is my home and estate!_ ” Walter demanded, coming into the hall of angry people. “ _Do you know who I am!? Speak and tell me, what's brought this about!_ ”

“ _Your whore of a sister is a witch!_ ” The head of the mob growled.

“ _A witch? Nonsense!_ ” Walter huffed, shaking his head.

“ _She's killed her husband, sacrificed him on a full moon for her crafts to the devil himself!_ ” Another barked from the crowd.

“ _Let us have her, or we will burn you all as witches!_ ”

“ _NO!_ ” Helena yelled, flying down the stairs, as if on a broom. “ _I will give myself to you, but only if you allow them to go free!_ ”

“ _Sister!_ ” Walter exclaimed, shocked and scandalized. “ _Is this true?_ ”

“ _It is, brother._ ” Helena replied, her head held up in pride.

Such a rage came into Walter McFayden's eyes, that rivaled the fiery pits of hell. “ _You have brought shame to this family and its name, to the halls of this Manor and the grounds that it sits upon._ ” He hissed at her, and stepped aside.

“ _She is yours._ ”

“ _Walter._ ” She gasped, shocked by his betrayal of her.

“ _I will not acknowledge you as my sister any longer, Witch._ ” Walter hissed and turned his back on her.

Hands grabbed and tore at Helena's fine clothing and hair, dragging her out of Long Haven Manor, to the gardens she once traversed as a child and young lady, erecting a stake and tying her to it. Helena looked over her family and ancestral home, feeling the heat of the flames as they started to catch in the wood stacked at her feet. The licking flames reflected in her honey-brown eyes, her face twisting into a look of pure hatred as she looked upon her murderous mob and the reflection of her brother and his wife in the top window of the Manor.

“ _Helena Marie McFayden-Shaw, you are, again, convicted and condemned as a witch._ ” The head man of the mob roared at her. “ _I came all the way from my home to ensure your death._ ”

“ _Hear me, here and now, you inferior people._ ” She spat at them, straining against her bonds the flesh of her shines blistering. “ _You have no clue of my true power, and you fools are freeing me of my earthly bonds, where I shall only be the stronger. I will haunt this place, for as long as it takes, to free myself and have my revenge of all of thee. For with these words, I curse you all and this place. For you, William Cavill, one of your children, now or in the future, will suffer that wrath._ ”

– –

“ _You see now?_ ”

Your eyes flashed open, Helena's face before yours now. “ _You were a witch and you cursed Henry's bloodline for your death._ ”

Helena nodded slowly.

“ _Why then, would you wish to save him?_ ”

“ _He has proved himself._ ” She replied, her long finger going down the side of your face.

“ _Then, stop the curse!_ ” You said, frantic.

“ _I cannot. Only you can._ ” She hissed back, pinching your chin. “My blood is in you.”

“ _I will not commit witchcraft!_ ” You hissed back, jerking your head away from her.

“ _Who do you think gave you the power to see the dead?_ ” Helena smirked at you. “ _It is that, which will free him from his legacy. His death._ ”

– –

“Henry!” You screamed, at the top of your lungs.

The thundering of feet came from deep within the house as you stood up, pulling up the skirts of your dress and looking at your feet, checking to see if they were truly charred as they had been, and the stab wounds from your father and the palms of your hands.

“Y/n, what is it? What's happened?” Henry's frantic voice called, barging into the room, Thaddeus and two servants behind him. “What's wrong?” He asked, panning around and looking you over.

You ran to him, burying your face into his pounding chest and sobbed. “Oh dear god.” You wept, shaking hands fisting the back of his shirt.

“Leave.” Henry snapped at everyone behind him.

“Sir?” One of the Servants frowned up at her master.

“Now!” He roared, flashing angry eyes at them.

Thaddeus and the servants started, but obeyed Henry's demand, closing the pocket doors to the bedroom, and left their rooms all together. Henry held you against him, cradling the back of your head in his hand and pressed his lips to your warm forehead, shushing and trying to soothe you. He didn't understand what was going on with you, but was sure you would tell him once you were calm. So, he scooped you up and took you to bed, sitting there with you between his legs and rested back against the headboard and pillows, stroking your hair and the side of your face, rocking gently side to side. He worried that the changes and the journey had taxed your mind too much.

“What?” He frowned, feeling your lips move against the side of his neck and heard your very faintly mutter something.

“Lily Hill Manor.” You repeated, louder.

Henry's eyes widened and gulped. “How do you know that?” He asked, licking his lips. “I've never told anyone what I call this house.”

Your eyes rolled back as you closed them, pressing your face hard to his chest and started to sob all over again.

“You're scaring me, y/n.” Henry told you, cupping your head and pulling you away from his chest, the terror and worry was plain on his face.

“I am scaring myself, Henry.” You sniffled back, unable to meet his eye.

“How do you know the name of the Manor?” He asked you again, softer, and wiped at your tears with his thumbs. “How do you know Lily Hill Manor?”

“Helena.” You choked and hiccuped, your bottom lip trembling.

Henry's heart stopped cold. “Please tell me, she's not come with us.” He begged you, feeling even more sick to his stomach. “I thought she only haunted Long Haven.”

“It seems, there's more to her and them, and us, then originally thought.” You whimpered, a migraine throbbing in your temple, making you groan and press your fingers to them.

“How..” Henry started to ask, but stopped, he didn't want to tax you anymore than you were already. “How about that bath, you tempted me with earlier?” He suggested, wiping at your eyes and nose with the sleeve of his shirt, not caring. “It will help you relax and calm you.”

“Okay.” You nodded, taking slow and deep breaths.

Smiling, Henry kissed your throbbing temple and got out of bed, went into the bathroom and drew the bath water for you. Returning to you and helping you into the bathroom and out of your clothing, Henry carefully lifted and set you into the warm water. He stripped off his shoes, trousers and shirt, then slipped in behind you, resting his hands on your strained shoulders, kneading them and rubbing his thumbs in firm circles against your neck and spine.

“Henry.” You whimpered, head dropped forward.

“My love?” He whispered back, biting his lip.

“Why have you named this place, Lily Hill?” You asked, eyes falling shut.

“Well,” Henry sighed, heavily. “It's on a hill, for one. But, also because it's made of white limestone, and sits not that far from the mine that contains it.” He explained to you. “Lilies, also, are symbolic of rebirth.” He added. “This land has given my family a new life, we owe it to that, and a great deal more.”

“How long has your father's family been here, in Chester?”

His brows furrowed and pressed his lips together as he considered it. “Some generations, I'm more than sure.” He finally replied. “Why do you ask?”

“Your middle name is William.”

“It is.” He nodded, even more confused.

“Were you named after someone?”

“Henry, was the name of my mother's grandfather.” He replied, shaking his head. “As for William, I'm unsure of the reason my parents gave it to me. Why are you asking all this?”

“It has to do with my dream.”

“Is that what caused your..”

“ _Terror._ ” You said it for him. “Yes. I dreamt of Helena and my father, and another spirit.”

Henry blinked at the back of your head, shocked. “What happened in it?” He asked.

“It was dark, devoid of all light. I heard the beating of a drum and the crackle of a fire. Something bound me and I felt the fire burning my skin. I cried out, but it didn't stop. The darkness was removed and I saw Helena. She told me what she always tells me.” You replied. “That, I must stop a legacy. My father appeared, dealing to me the wounds that he had been given at his death. He begged me to avenge his death, ' _I must aid those that we have wronged, setting him free, and revealing another, the real murderer.'_ ” You quoted him.

“Who have you wronged?” Henry frowned, narrowing his eyes.

“I think that is what the new spirit showed me.” You told him, looking at him over your shoulder. “A very long time ago, there was a witch trial, in Pendle, thirteen women were convicted of the crime and executed for it. But, one of them escaped her judgment and ran off to her family home, seeking safety there. A year later, the authorities found her and burned her at the stake on her ancestral lands, not only which did she curse, but she cursed the mob that burned her and her very family. Promising to haunt that house and grounds until the vengeance of her sisters deaths was exacted, no matter how long it took. She specifically cursed the head of the mob.”

“Who was she?” Henry asked, a gut feeling told him the answer.

“Helena Marie McFayden-Shaw.” You pronounced her name clearly, leaving no misunderstanding in it. “My, however many, great-aunt.” You drew lazy shapes in the water with the tip of your finger. “The man, she cursed, for convicting and condemning her and her fellow witch sisters..” You paused, licking your lips and gulped. “was one, William Cavill.”

Henry's hands fell from your shoulders and splashed into the water at your sides, his mouth hanging open and a complete look of shock on his face.

You turned your body sideways, drawing your knees up to your chest and looked at him. “Are there other Cavills, non-relation, in Chester and Pendle?” You asked, hoping beyond hope there was, but Henry's reaction told you what you needed to know.

“There is not.” He whispered, exasperated. “The next Cavills, I am aware of, of no relation, are in Ireland or France.” He looked up at you and met your eyes. “What is the _legacy_?” He asked, pained.

You opened your mouth, but you frowned and shook your head, you still didn't understand what the legacy was yourself. “Something with the history between, it seems, my family and yours. All I gathered is that one of William Cavill's _future children_ would suffer the wrath of her curse. Which could potentially mean..” You cleared your throat, pushing the sick feeling back down to your stomach. “your death.” You said, very softly.

“But, I am meant to prevent it.”

“Your ancestor cursed my family, which I am to bear the consequences of, then wishes _you_ to stop it. Why?” He snapped, very upset, but not at you.

“I asked that very question myself.” You replied, equally upset. “Helena plainly stated, _He has proved himself_. Whatever in this world, and the next, that means. Then, I woke up screaming your name, as you already know.”

“Proven myself. Proven myself how?” Henry huffed, running his dripping fingers through his curly hair, the steam from the hot water making them wilder.

“I don't know.” You told him, tears brimming in your eyes, you were mortified about what was happening. “I have to break a curse, so you don't _die_ , apparently, and find the true killer of my father, or he'll be stuck here on earth forever, and can not rest.” You panted, becoming overwhelmed again.

“What a start to our marriage.”

“Which does not kill you, makes you stronger.” Henry quoted with a chuckle, leaning back against the edge of the tub.

“That's not funny, Henry.” You snapped at him, terrified at the thought of losing him.

Henry grinned at you, pressing his lips together and pushed them out with a pop. “Come.” He sighed at you, taking you by the arms and pulled you against his chest. “I will be fine, my love.” He whispered to you, laid your head on his shoulder and rubbed your back. “I will be more than fine. I have you here with me, and that is all I need.”

“What if, it is true, Henry.” You whispered, against his warm and damp skin.

He tilted his head down, nosing your hair and contemplated your words, and Helena's. He would be a liar, if he admitted that he wasn't worried and afraid about the validity of the claim and curse. If Helena is as powerful enough to show him the ghost of your dead father, and haunt your dreams, even from such a far distance; Henry had no doubt she could curse whomever she wanted, whenever she wanted.

“It will be fine, sweetheart.” He finally spoke to you. “We'll manage this, _together_.” He promised, lifting your head and kissing you, tenderly, on the lips. “It will be all right, y/n. We will be all right.”

After bathing and draining the tub, you and Henry dried off and dressed, your clothing was already hung up with care in the closet, then went down to have dinner with Thaddeus. You felt your mind ease in the distraction of having dinner with such a dear friend, forgetting about your nightmare and the threat of the curse and the daunting task of finding out, not only how to break the curse, but to find out the true identity of your father's killer.

“So, tell me, y/n.” Thaddeus spoke up, when Henry left the room for a moment. “How are you finding it here? So far.” He asked, looking across the dining table at you.

“So far, I am finding it favorable and homely.” You replied, looking about you. “I have not been here a day, and already feel more at home and peaceful, than I ever did back in Long Haven. It's brighter, not only in feeling, but in sunlight as well. I look forward to being here for the rest of my days.”

“I am glad to hear of it.” Thaddeus smiled at you, relieved at how well you were settling in. “It makes me glad to know of your comfort. I do hope you are not tormented, like earlier, again.”

“As do I.” You added, blushing softly.

– –

You shivered and moaned shifting in bed and sleep, blankets were pulled over you more, your hair stoked, until you relaxed and slipped back off into your dreams. Henry smiled, tucking the blankets around you, making sure you didn't catch a cold, while the balcony doors were wide open, letting the dark and cool night inside the room. Sighing, he stepped back out onto the balcony, resting his elbows on the black wrought iron railing, pressing his lips to his folded fingers as he stared out over his vast estate, deeply troubled about what he learned, and frustrated that he didn't know how to fix it; or even how to protect you from the ghosts so hellbent on torturing you.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Henry shoved off the railing and went back inside, securing the balcony doors shut and pulled on his robe, going down to his study and library. He ran his fingers along the new and worn leather spins of the books lining the room's walls until he found what he was looking for. Pulling the thick volume from the high bookshelf, Henry carried it to his desk and sat down with it, propping it open and flipping through a dozen or so pages before he found what he was looking for.

“ _William James Cavill, 1574-1625._ ” Henry read from his copy of his family history. “Jesus Christ, preserve my soul.” He gasped, rubbing the side of his tired face. “The curse of a name.” He whispered to himself, dropping back into his chair.

“It's the only thing that makes any sense.”

Closing the book and picking up the candle on his desk, Henry went back up stairs to bed, blowing the candle out and setting it on the small desk in the sitting room of the master bedroom, before crawling back into bed with you. Pulling the covers over you both and wrapping his arms around you, soothed by the reassuring warmth and weight of your body against his, your scent filling his nostrils.

“Henry,” You whimpered in your sleep, pressing your palms to his broad back and nosing his chest. “where did you go?”

Henry mentally scolded himself, he thought he had been more careful in leaving you in bed alone. But, it seemed your souls were more connected and aware of each other than he thought. “Nowhere, my sweet.” He whispered, quietly back, kissing your cheek. “I will tell you in the morning. Sleep and have peaceful dreams.” He bid you, cuddling you closer to him. “I will take care of you.” He added, in a murmur.

– –

“You asked for me, Henry?” You said, stepping into his study.

Abby, the Housekeeper, found you in the garden, enjoying the beautiful day and reading the _Tales of Two Cities_ , and informed you that Henry wanted to see you in his study, when convenient to you. Naturally, you rose and made your way there at once, finding your husband at his desk, both hands braced at either side of a large book, looking deeply bothered and conflicted.

“I did.” He replied, raising his head to look at you. “I found something, last night, that will be of interest to our— _problem_.”

Your head tilted with apprehension, gulping. “What is that?” You asked, in a weak voice.

“William James Cavill.” Henry stated plainly. “was my ancestor, my so many great grandfathers. He was the Chief Justice of Pendle, from 1610 to 1618. His most noted achievement while in that office, was for the 1612 Pendle Witch Trial, of twelve witches.” He read off the page in front of him. “Only twelve.”

“It makes sense, since he didn't persecute Helena in Pendle, but in London.” You replied, standing before his desk and resting your hands on it. “So, he's real and your relative.”

“Are we surprised?” Henry asked, lifting a brow at you.

“No.” You shook your head. “Do you believe it?”

“y/n, I have never had cause or concern to not believe anything, you've ever said.” Henry told you, bothered that you still didn't believe that he believed in you, wholeheartedly. “Have you ever lied to me? Or exaggerated?”

“No, never.” You frowned back at him.

“Then, why is it hard for you to trust me, when I tell you, I believe you, when you see the spirits and dream of them, that what they tell you is true as well. Even if what they say is some truth or other, like random babbles of the dead?”

“Because you are the only one, besides Grace, that has ever believed me, so unconditionally. I can't understand how anyone could believe it, I don't understand it myself.”

“But, it is there, y/n, and I _do_ believe you. Nothing, will ever make me not believe what you say or how you feel.” He told you, reaching out and resting his hand over yours. “For better and for worse.”

You took a deep breath, turning your hand and intertwining your fingers with his. “So, we know of him, and what his exact role in the matter was. How does this help us figure out how to right the wrongs, of both our apparent ancestors?”

“I know not.” Henry sighed back, drumming his fingers against the page. “He purposely went out of his way and traveled such a distance to kill one woman and witch. Granted, she is exceedingly powerful. But, why not send a letter to tell the London Chief Justice about her witchcraft, and allow them to deal with her.”

“I don't know.” You frowned, confounded by the issue yourself. “It has to be something great in reason, to be sure.”

“Sir.” Abby's voice called from the door. “Madam.” She bowed to the both of you.

“Yes, what is it, Abby?” Henry answered her, closing the book and standing up straight.

“Her Ladyship, is here to see you both.” She informed you about Henry's mother. “She is in the formal sitting room.” She bowed and disappeared.

“My mother.” Henry smiled, excited about the visit and you both went downstairs to greet her. “Hello, Mum.” He hugged her, warmly. “How are you today?”

“I'm quite well, thank you.” Marianne replied, hugging him back. “I came to check up on you two lovebirds.” She teased, smiling at you and Henry.

“We're doing well.” You replied, greeting and hugging her as well.

“Wonderfully.” He added, in affirmative.

“Please, sit.” You said, motioning to a chair and politely waited for her to take it, before taking your own, followed by Henry.

“How are the fresh days of matrimony keeping you?” She asked, smiling between you both. “Well, I hope.”

Henry smiled at you. “It's going quite wonderfully.” He told her, taking your hand in his, as you both sat on the love seat together. “I have no complaints, and hope y/n doesn't either.”

“I certainly have none.” You giggled back at him, shaking your head. “I am more than fulfilled in the matter.”

“Ah, young and early love.” Marianne smiled, she was so happy that her son was not only married, Henry was the last of the Cavill brothers to be, but that his marriage was one of love, mutual respect and devotion. “Your father and I's marriage still feels the same, even after all this time.”

“How long have you and Mr. Cavill been married?” You asked, tilting your head at her.

“Thirty years and more.” She replied, fondly. “I do wish the same for you both.”

You and Henry looked at each other, smiling and thinking the same thing.


	4. Part IV

“Mum, can I ask you a question?” Henry asked as you all sat in the living room together.

“Of course.” Marianne nodded, folding her hands over her knee.

“I know you named me after great-grandfather, Henry.” He started, licking his lips. “But, why did you and dad give me my middle name?” He asked, lifting a brow at her.

Marianne pressed her lips together. “It was your father's idea to give you the middle name of William.” She replied, after a moment. “He said, it just seemed to fit you.” She explained, then frowned at the look on your and Henry's faces. “Is there something you both would like to discuss?” She asked, concerned.

“No.” Henry shook his head, hoping he didn't sound too hasty on the reply. “Just curious, is all.” He added, trying to ease the suspicious frown on his mother's face.

“All right then.” Marianne replied, narrowing her eyes, slightly.

– –

“It's going to be one blustery and rainy night.” Henry commented on the storm that had rolled in late that afternoon, and peeked out the shuttered window of the master bedroom, slowly unbuttoning his shirt, getting ready for bed.

“That it is.” You agreed, then chuckled softly, hearing Kal's whines from behind the closed pocket doors, and got out of bed. “It's all right, my sweet boy.” You whispered to him, opening the pocket doors and knelt down, tucking your bare feet into your nightgown, and let Kal press his anxious body against yours, rubbing and scratching him all over. “I don't like all the ruckus either.” You told him, hugging his neck and gently pressing a kiss between his erect ears.

Henry turned towards you, slipping his shirt off and tossed it over the back of a chair, smiling as you did your best to soothe the Akita. You and Kal got along like two peas in a pod, the Akita absolutely loved following you around the house and grounds, sticking close to you, laying at your feet or on the couch, his head or a paw always touching you. You didn't mind at all, it was so nice to have a companion like Kal. The affection you gave the Bear was Henry's precursor into how loving and doting a mother you would one day be to your own children, which he looked forward to, so wholeheartedly. Picturing you as a mum gave Henry butterflies and goosebumps, the thought of your belly swelling, watching you hold and nurse a babe you both created together, he couldn't wait.

“Perhaps, we could persuade your dear papa to let you in bed with us?” You whispered out loud, leaning in close to Kal, but you were looking at Henry from the corners of your eyes.

“I don't know.” Henry grinned, narrowing his eyes at you.

“But, look at this face.” You turned Kal's face towards him and gently pinched his cheeks, making kissy lips at him and cooing noises. “How can you deny this face? This poor baby, scared of all the noise.”

“His face is easy to deny.” He replied, squatting beside you. “But, yours.” He cupped your chin in his fingers. “Yours, I have an impossible time denying.” He confessed, softly.

“Let our furry son sleep with us.” You said, softly.

“ _Our_ furry son.” Henry quipped, pulling your face close and kissed you. “Come on, Kal. Let's snuggle with Mummy.” He smirked, standing up and patting Kal on the head.

The three of you climbed into bed, you snuggling back against Henry, spooned together, as Kal laid at your feet. The storm raged outside the shuttered windows, flickers of lighting flashed between the slats, the rain pelted the panes of every window and the stone, wind howling and whistling in all the chimneys throughout the house, making it feel alive.

“ _Y/n_.”

“Hm.” You hummed back, frowning in your sleep.

“ _Y/n_.”

“What?” You whimpered, hugging Henry's arm against your chest and rubbing your cheek against his fingers.

“ _Y/n!_ ”

You sat up with a gasp, alerting Kal to your distress. “Who's there?” You called softly, not wishing to disturb Henry.

“ _Come to me._ ” A voice whispered back.

“No.” You replied firmly, shaking your head.

The pocket doors to the bedroom slid open on their own accord, making your mouth drop open and gulp. “ _Come._ ” The voice repeated, the main door to the bed chambers flying open stiffly. “ _Or he dies._ ”

You sucked in a lungful of air, eyes snapping to Henry's peaceful face as his head rested on your shared pillow. “Please,” You begged, meekly. “don't hurt him.”

“ _Then, come to me._ ” It hissed at you, the main door trembling, as if some angry force shook it.

Gulping, audibly, you pulled the blankets from your feet and slowly slid out of bed, not wanting to make too much movement and wake Henry. Silently tiptoeing over the Turkish rug and pulling on your silk robe, you tied the sash as you left the room and stepped into the hallway.

“Where are you?” You whispered into the darkness.

“ _This way._ ” A quick whisper said to your left.

“Lord almighty.” You started, feeling Kal's cold nose touch the warm skin of your hand. “Kal, stay here with daddy.” You told him, pushing him back into the room and closed the door after him.

Taking a deep breath you walked down the hall, your way lit by the periodic flashes of lightning above the house. You shivered as you arrived at the stairwell going down to the lower floors, waiting for a sign of what to do next. It came with the flicker of movement on the landing below as another streak of lightning brightened the house. Biting your lip and looking back towards the bedchamber, you timidly started down the stairs, glanced around and continued down to the ground floor. A blast of fresh and damp air rushed up behind you, whirling around you as you found the slamming back door of the kitchen. The near torrential rain raved outside, the wind whipping it around with booms of thunder and cracks of lightning, droplets pelted the bottom of your gown and robes, chilling your bare feet and making you shiver.

“ _Come to me._ ”

You twist around as the words come to your ear, expecting to see the owner of the voice standing just there, behind you. But, there was no one. “Where are you?” You replied, turning in a circle and began to question your sanity.

“ _Here!_ ” The voice cried out from above the roar of thunder.

Glancing back and forth, you stepped out into the maddening storm, soaked in an instant. You followed the growing shadow in front of you, mud squelching between your toes and splattering on your clothing. The shadow grew large the nearer you got to it, and just before you thought you would reach it, it would become small again. You were shaking with cold and soaking wet by the time you reached the edge of Lily Hill Manor, and the shadow maintained its size; you sensed more than one spirit standing near you now.

“What do you want!” You yelled over the storm.

“ _Revenge._ ” A new voice hissed, close to your ear.

“I don't understand.” You cried, hugging your arms about yourself for what shred of warmth is left in your body.

“ _For what his blood has wronged us in._ ” Another replied in your opposite ear.

Multiple shadows surrounded and closed in around you, filling you with fright and horror, a deep foreboding darkness crept into your very bones and blood. Your chest tightened, making it hard to breathe and your heart to beat, as if life was being choked out of you. You staggered and pressed a hand to your chest, feeling your head spin and lighten, eyes blurring. The spirits around you started murmuring, what you could not tell, preoccupied with trying to breath and stay on your feet.

Kal whined and whimpered, scratching at the hardwood floor and the door. “Kal, stop.” Henry whined, brow furrowing and reaching out an arm to pull you closer to him, but only found empty and cold sheets. “Y/n?” He frowned, sitting up in bed and glancing around for you. “My love?” He called out again, when you didn't answer him, and got out of bed.

“What is it, Bear?” He asked Kal, who kept on whining and whimpering at the door.

Henry pulled on his robe and slippers and opened the door for Akita, following him down the stairs and to the main floor. He heard the banging door and the storm raging through it, which he found odd. Kal wasted no time in dashing through the open door, like a bat out of hell. “Kal! Come back!” Henry yelled at him, taking off after him.

“Y/n!” He screamed, Kal leading him straight to where you laid, unconscious in the wet and mud. “Dear god, what are you doing out here.” Henry panted in shock. “Y/n.” He called to you, patting your colorless and frigid cheeks, your lips a startling blue color. “Dear god, y/n.” He whimpered, unaware of the twelve shadows about him.

Scooping you up, Henry rushed you back to the house. “Abby!” He screamed as he burst into the house. “ABBY!”

“Sir!” Abby's voice yelled back as she came out of her room, in the below stairs. “Oh Christ, my lady!” She shrieked, seeing you limply held in Henry's strong arms, both of you shivering and dripping. “What's happened?”

“I don't know.” Henry huffed back, his handsome face pinched with worry and fear. “Wake Albert and have him go out, this instant, for a doctor.” He bid her, turning and carrying you upstairs to your rooms. “My dearest love, what came over you?” He sighed, laying you down on the bed and quickly removing your soaked and muddy clothing, piling all the blankets and quilts on top of you, then built up the fire in the fireplace. “Come back to me, my love.” He whispered to you, rubbing your hands between his, trying to bring warmth back into them.

“Tell me, what you were thinking.” He hissed through clenched teeth, angry, but not with you.

“Sir.” Abby knocked on the pocket doors. “Dr. Syverson is here to attend the madam.”

“Bring him in.” Henry bid her, standing up. “Good Doctor.” He welcomed the physician.

“I am informed that the lady of the house has been taken ill.” He said, shaking Henry's hand.

“She has.” Henry nodded, moving out of his way, so he could examine you. “She was out in the storm, for some time, I fear.” He frowned, standing at the foot of the bed and biting his thumbnail, nervously. “I know not why, but, I fear she'll catch ill.” He explained and started pacing, unable to stay still.

“It looks to me, you've done your best to warm her.” Syverson replied, sweat breaking out on his forehead from the heat of the fire, and peeled back the coverings on you.

“I have.” Henry nodded, chewing on his lip.

“She is still greatly chilled, though.” He replied, touching the skin of your face, neck and arms. “But, I fear that is in due, because of a fever she is starting to develop.” He added, seeing the sheen of sweat coating your body.

“Please,” Henry whimpered at the doctor, a pathetic look on his face. “Tell me, I didn't find her too late.”

“I am unsure, at present, Mr. Cavill.” Dr. Syverson told him, regretfully. “If it is all right with you, I would like to take lodgings here, to keep a closer eye on her, should anything turn for the worse and I be too far to retrieve.”

“Absolutely, there's no question or argument about it.” Henry readily consented.

“I will leave some laudanum with you, it will help her rest should she become restless and agitated from her fever and reduce the cough, she surely will contract.” Syverson explained, pulling a brown bottle out of his bag and setting it on the bedside table. “Put a teaspoon of it into some tea, it will help her keep it down better.” He said to Henry, standing up and covering you again. “Keep her warm and comfortable.”

“I will do my best.” Henry told him softly. “Abby.” He called to the housekeeper, worriedly pacing the sitting room of the chambers. “Please, show Dr. Syverson to one of the guest rooms, and retrieve a cup of tea for y/n.”

“Right away, sir.” Abby nodded, bowing to him, and showed Syverson out of the room.

Henry closed the pocket doors and turned to look at you, his hair still dripping wet, as were his clothes, but he was starting to dry as the roaring fireplace heated the room. Sniffling, Henry peeled off his wet robe and clothing, tossing them into the bathroom with yours. He took up a washcloth and used it to mop at the sweat on your brow and neck, leaning down he pressed his lips to your forehead, your burning fever warming the chill from them.

“Henry.” You whimpered in a frail voice, whining and shaking your head.

“I'm here, honey.” He whispered back, stroking your damp hair from your temple. “Right here.”

“Henry.” You sighed, so faintly, your face twisting in a look of anguish.

“Ssshh.” Henry hushed you, stroking your sweaty face and neck. “You're all right, my darling.” He cooed at you, looking down at you so frightfully. “Sweetheart?” He whispered, face expectant as you suddenly opened your red eyes and looked up at him.

“Y/n?”

“Henry.” You hiccuped, reaching up to touch his face.

“It's me, love.” He replied, turning his head to kiss your palm. “What were you thinking, going out in the storm like that?” He frowned, shaking his head and trying to understand.

You shook your head at him. “Lay with me.” You begged him, feebly. “I'm cold.” You told him, shivering despite the high fever you were running. “Please, Henry.”

“All right.” He nodded and stood up. “Here, why don't you have a little bit of this.” He suggested, uncorking the laudanum and measuring out what the doctor had suggested, into the cup of tea, that Abby had brought at his order. “It'll help you rest better.” He told you, holding the cup to your chapped lips and helping you sip it. “There you go.” He smiled, setting the cup back down on its saucer, then pulled back the covers and got into bed with you.

Frowning as you curled up against his side and rested your hot forehead against his chest, Henry reached out for the cloth and wiped the fresh sweat off your face as you relaxed against him, your shivers retreating some. Henry stroked your hair and tried to soothe your restlessness as much as he could, listening to you whimper in your sleep. You shivered and groaned, your body throbbing as your illness took a hold of you.

Henry's eyes opened, drowsy, as he felt your body shift against his. “Y/n, what's wrong?” He frowned as you pushed yourself up.

“Everything hurts.” You whined, rubbing at your lower back and shrugging your shoulders.

“Here.” Henry whispered, carefully pulling you between his long legs and started rubbing your shoulders and back. “What were you doing out in the storm, y/n?” He asked, looking at you over your shoulder.

“I-” You coughed and cleared your sore throat. “I heard someone, and followed them out there.”

Henry shook his head, blinking at you. “What did they want?” He inquired, confused, but sure it had something to do with the spirits.

“Revenge.” You rasped, moaning at the feeling of Henry's strong hands working up and down your spine.

“They're not very forthcoming, are they?” He sighed, closing his eyes.

“No, never.” You sighed back, shaking your head. “I am sorry for scaring you so.” You whispered to him.

“As long as you become well again, I don't care.” Henry replied, twisting a lock of your muddy hair around his finger. “Come with me.” He whispered, getting out of bed and took your hand, supporting you into the bathroom.

Henry drew you a bath and helped you in the lukewarm water, mindful of your fever and chills. You drew your legs up to your chest and rested your chin on your knees, as Henry knelt beside the tub and took up the soap and worked it into a lather, before turning his attention to you, working his fingers diligently into your scalp and hair.

“You know.” You said softly, taking Henry's hand and stepping out of the tub. “You're nothing like most men, I've encountered.”

“How so?” He frowned, fetching you a towel

“Look at you.” You smiled at him, taking the towel and wrapping it around yourself. “You just washed my hair. You draw me baths and you're just so incredibly attentive. I've never seen, or known, a man to do that for anyone, other than himself.” You explained to him.

“My father does it for my mum.” Henry smirked at you. “Happy wife, happy life; as he always says. But, I enjoy being attentive of you and doting on you, every way I can. It makes me happy to know you are, especially, if I am the one to make you so.” He confessed, watching you dry off. “Here, you are still incredibly warm from your fever.” He said, grabbing one of his shirts, and helped slip it over your head, chuckling as the soft cotton fabric swallowed your form.

“It'll keep you cool, but covered.”

“My thoughtful husband.” You smiled, wrapping your arms around him and pressing your cheek to his chest.

“My beautiful wife.” Henry cooed back, wrapping his arms around you and hugging you snug against his body. “Let's get you back to bed, you need to rest.” He whispered into your damp and clean hair.

Henry ushered you back to bed, covering you up and fluffing your pillow, then tossed a few more logs into the fireplace and joined you in bed. “You should sleep.” He whispered as you shifted to lay your head on his thick thigh, rubbing your cheek against his bare skin; reaching down to stroke your hair and caress the side of your face and neck.

“As miserable as I feel, I can't seem to find an ounce of sleep.” You confessed to him, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Hm.” He hummed back. “Perhaps, you should finish your tea.” He suggested, reaching out for it. “It has laudanum in it, the physician said it would help you rest.” He told you, handing it to you after you sat up.

You took the cup from him and sipped all of it down, before handing it back to him to put it aside. Henry snuggled down and pulled you against him, resting your head on the crook of his arm, as he faced you and watched your feverish and glassy eyes slowly grow heavier and heavier, until they closed and your body became weighty. You moaned ever so faintly, drifting off into a heavy sleep. Henry smiled, kissing the bridge of your nose as he listened to your soft snores, he lifted his head feeling the bed shake and snorted, Kal looked at him as he turned in a few circles and laid down on the foot of the bed, resting his big head on Henry's calf.

– –

“ _Please! Please, you said you loved me!_ ”

“ _I did love you! Until, I found out who you really were!_ ”

“ _William!_ ”

“ _We told you this love would be folly._ ” A dark haired woman hissed, you recognized the voice. “ _Men are far too narrow-minded to understand the forces we command, they're too threatened by it._ ”

“ _Do not lecture me about our power, Alice!_ ” Helena hissed back, her honey-brown eyes glowing at the other witch. “ _He will learn to never cross me again._ ” She added, hands clasped into fists.

You bolted upright with a gasp, panting and dripping with sweat, then laid back as waves of nausea and lightheadedness washed over you. You stared up at the ceiling, trying to catch your breath and settle your stomach, before dropping back off into a feverish sleep.

– –

Helena entered her home in Blackburn, and instantly rolled her eyes at the sight of her husband, Evan Shaw. Their marriage was not one of love, or any sort of mutual standing, her elder brother, Walter, had arranged their marriage for a position of business and a higher social standing. Evan was the ninth Duke of Lancaster, so his family was extremely wealthy and moved in social circles Walter, as an Earl of Sussex, could not. While selfish and conceited, Evan was as affectionate as could be towards his wife, even though he doted on his hounds more than Helena. Evan's family had tried, in vain, to halt their marriage, and admittedly, so had Helena. But, Evan being the head of the household, since his father Stephen's death, when he was sixteen, ignored their protests and entreaties, marrying Helena anyway. She attempted to make his life as much a living hell and hardship as she could, but it never seemed to phase her unwanted husband. Not even the openly discussed rumors of her being a witch deterred Evan from staying with her.

“ _Hello, wife!_ ” Evan greeted her in a cheery voice, smiling and kissing her cheek. “ _How was your sewing circle?_ ” He asked, beaming at her with a pathetic amount of ignorance.

“ _Well, husband._ ” Helena replied, coldly.

“ _Excellent!_ ” He chuckled. “ _I am going out, don't wait up for me!_ ” He told her, taking up his coat and top hat. “ _The Duke of York and I are going hunting with the hounds._ ” He called over his shoulder to her, the door swinging shut after him.

“ _I never will._ ” Helena rolled her eyes, in reply.

The sound of carriage wheels on the cobble driveway out front the house drew Helena's attention as she sat in her private room, followed by the boom of a fist pounding on the front doors of the Manor. She blew out the wick of her black candle and stepped out of her room, locking the door behind her, before going down the spiral staircase to see who was visiting this late at night; knowing that Evan wouldn't be returning until late morning.

“ _My lady, Lord William Cavill, to see you._ ” The maid informed her, bowing her head to her mistress.

“ _Excellent._ ” Helena smiled at her. “ _Show him to my rooms._ ” she bid her, turning around with a twirl of skirts and rushed back to her private bedroom.

“ _Hello, Mon cœur._ ” William greeted Helena as he stepped into her bed chamber, smiling at her.

“ _Mon chéri._ ” Helena smiled back at her, heart a flutter as she threw her arms about him. “ _How I have missed you so, these lonely months._ ” She told him, kissing his lips.

“ _And I you._ ” William replied, kissing her back. “ _I thought I was to die, if I was to spend another moment away from you, my sweet._ ” He told her, hugging her hard against him.

“ _Make me yours again, Will._ ” She murmured into his ear, tugging on his lobe with her teeth.

William lost little time freeing Helena and himself from their clothing, carrying her off to her bed and laying her out on it, licking his lips at the sight of her exposed and creamy skin, before attacking her neck and devouring her. Helena laughed, raking her fingers through his black and curly hair, hugging his face against her chest as he suckled her breasts with his skilled mouth and tongue.

“ _William, yes._ ” She purred, his face nuzzled between her thighs.

“ _You taste sweeter than nature's nectar, my sweet flower._ ” He moaned back, lapping at her folds with his broad tongue.

“ _Take me, Will._ ” Helena begged him, gasping for air, her toes curling.

“ _Let me taste you a while, my love._ ” William purred back, smirking up at her with dancing baby blues. “ _How I have missed your taste._ ” He moaned against her folds, rubbing his lips against them.

Bringing her to the very edge, several times, William kissed back up the length of her body and kissed her deeply, when their lips met again, wrapping her legs around his waist and pushing up inside her core, rolling his hips in fluid motions. The chamber filled with the sounds of their love making, lost in the bliss and love of their union. Helena pushed him over and straddled him, pressing her palms to his broad chest and dug her long nails into his skin, drawing blood and making him hiss, bucking up inside of her hard, causing her to cry out and laugh at the same time. Her head dropped back, her waist length hair flowing down her back, and both so remiss in their passion, they didn't hear the opening of the chamber doors.

“Y/n?” Henry's voice stirred you from your dream. “My love.” He whispered softer, caressing the side of your flushed cheek.

“Hm, Will.” You whimpered back, frowning, and shaking your head, trying to pull to the surface of consciousness.

Henry frowned at you, “Y/n, wake up.” He told you, rubbing your arm and watching you struggle to do so.

“Henry.” You groaned, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment, before opening them. “Henry.” You said again, softer, and looked up at him.

“Yes.” Henry nodded at you, a deep frown still on his face. “Are you all right?” He asked, wiping sweat from your pale face.

“Yeah, just dreaming.” You replied, swallowing around your sore throat.

Henry nodded at you, still very concerned. “I brought you something to eat.” He told you, getting up to carefully set a bed tray over your lap. “You've been asleep for almost a day and a half now. Dr. Syverson was worried you'd become even more weak, if you didn't get any nourishment down soon.” He explained to you, tucking a pillow behind your head. “So, he suggested, we wake you long enough for you to eat something.”

“I am famished.” You answered, feeling your stomach rumble in emptiness as you looked over the two pieces of dry toast, small bowl of oatmeal and a steaming cup of tea.

“Do you have it?” Henry asked, as you picked up the spoon next to your oatmeal.

“I think so.” You replied, scooping up some of the gooey oats into your mouth.

“All right.” Henry smiled, just relieved you weren't any weaker than he and Syverson were beginning to worry you were.

“Has it really been a day and a half?” You asked, taking a bite of toast.

“It has.” He nodded, rubbing your leg, comfortingly. “We've been able to wake you only for a few moments to sip down some water or medicine, but nothing beyond that. This has been the most alert you've been.” He explained to you.

Henry hadn't left your side, unless he couldn't possibly help it, in the almost two days you'd been unconscious. Completely worried about you and your safety, he woke several times a night to check on you, making sure you were still in bed beside him and breathing, listening to you whimper in discomfort and restlessness. When Henry wasn't keeping watch over you, Abby was, or the few times Marianne had, when she came over to check on you. Your fever would break for a few hours, before returning almost as badly, causing Henry to fear he would lose you at any moment. Seeing you sitting up now and eating the little bit you could, gave Henry a great sense of relief, he felt like he could breathe again. You looked at him over the rim of your teacup, seeing the dark smudges under his blue eyes and the day old scuff on his face, where he'd clearly not even allowed himself to leave you long enough to shave.

“Have you slept?” You asked him, when he cleared away the tray after you ate all you could.

“Here and there.” He confessed, sitting on the bed beside you.

“What time is it?” You inquired, glancing around the darkened room.

“Almost midnight.”

“Lay with me.” You tried to persuade him, pulling the blankets back on his side of the bed. “Please.” You added, when he started to shake his head. “It won't do either of us any good, if you're as ill as I am, Henry.” You argued, as he opened his mouth to protest.

Henry sighed, knowing you were right, and moved around to his side of the bed and laid down with you. You stroked his bearded face and messy curls, pressing your lips to his forehead and hummed very softly to him, lulling him off to sleep. Assured when he was asleep, you sat up and turned in bed to sit on the edge, reaching out to pick up the bottle of laudanum, still sitting on your bedside table, and poured some of it into your tea, feeling the soreness and the stiffness in your body, from being sick and laying in bed for so long. You swallowed some of your tea and laid back down with Henry, smiling as he unconsciously reached out and pulled you against him, laying his head on your shoulder.

– –

“ _Helena!_ ” Evan's voice yelled in disbelief as he stepped into her bed chamber.

Helena never missed a beat as she continued to ride William and looked over her shoulder, at her husband, lifting a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at him. “ _Home so early, Evan?_ ” She asked him, as if nothing was amiss.

“ _What is the meaning of this?_ ” Evan demanded, dashing his hat to the floor in a fit of anger.

William wrapped his arms around her waist and sat up, pulling Helena out of his lap, and stood. “ _Her pleasure obviously._ ” He replied for her, jerking on his trousers.

“ _That you have rudely interrupted._ ” Helena added, pouting at William's bare back.

“ _Nothing personal, old man._ ” William laughed at Evan, patting him on the chest. “ _Until we meet again, my sweet._ ” He smirked at Helena, then he showed himself out.

“ _How could you?!_ ” Evan roared at Helena.

Helena rolled her eyes at him. “ _I could, because I wish too._ ” She told him, unbothered. “ _It's been three years since you've taken me into your bed. I'm twenty-four, Evan, and you're nearly thirty-five, you can't, and don't, satisfy me the way William does, at twenty-six._ ” She said, looking at her nails.

“ _You harlot!_ ” He screamed at the top of his lungs, striking her across the face and giving her a bloody nose.

Holding the back her hand to her nose, Helena glared up at Evan with a look of pure murder. “ _You will pay for that, Evan Thomas Shaw._ ” She jeered at him, in a cold voice.

“ _You don't scare me, woman._ ” Evan replied, storming out of her room.

Several days later, Helena entered Evan's private room, where he was taking his breakfast and sat down across from him, a pious look on her face. “ _I am truly sorry for my deceit, husband._ ” She told him, looking truly regretful. “ _I never meant to harm you, or our marriage. I do hope you can forgive me._ ” She looked at him, through thick black lashes.

Evan regarded her for a long time, before speaking. “ _I honestly shouldn't forgive your distasteful actions._ ” He said, dabbing at his mouth with his silk napkin. “ _But, you are young and stupid, and I love you. So, I will forgive you. But, if I ever find out of your lewd behavior again, I will drop and disown you faster than your thick skull could spin._ ” He told her, narrowing his eyes at her.

“ _Do I make myself understood?_ ”

“ _Perfectly, husband. Truly, I thank you. You are more humble and loving than I deserve._ ” Helena nodding, dropping to her knees in front of him and clung to his hands. “ _Please, allow me to show my gratitude further. I have a most marvelous surprise for you._ ” She told him, smiling brightly.

“ _And what is that?_ ” Evan asked, sighing at her.

“ _Meet me in my chamber, just after dusk._ ” She explained to him, getting up. “ _I will not give any more details beyond that. For, I don't wish to ruin the surprise for you._ ”

“ _Very well, wife. I will meet you there as said._ ” Evan nodded, indulging her as he always had.

After dusk, Evan entered Helena's room and found her there, with a bottle of wine and two goblets, her room lit by dozens of candles as she sat on the edge of her bed, already holding a goblet of the wine in her hand, that she held out to him with a suggestive lift of her brow. Smirking at her, Evan took the goblet from her and took a sip of it, while Helena poured herself more in the other goblet.

“ _Come, dearest husband._ ” She cooed at him, leaning back. “ _Lay with me._ ” She smiled, rubbing the side of her foot up the inside of his thigh.

Evan blinked several times and shook his head once, feeling a fogginess coming over his mind. “ _What have you put in this?_ ” He asked her, swaying on his bare feet.

“ _Nothing._ ” Helena replied, sipping her wine as she watched him.

“ _You've poisoned it._ ” He hissed, almost falling.

“ _How could I have poisoned it, Evan. I was drinking from it before you. Surely, if it was poisoned, I would be affected just the same. Which, I am not._ ” She pointed out, motioning to herself.

“ _You've poisoned me._ ” Evan mumbled, dropping the goblet of wine.

Helena rolled her eyes at him, downing the rest of her own wine and set it on the bedside table. “ _Frightfully wrong, husband._ ” She sighed, walking a circle around him, before stopping behind him and easily pushing him, face first, onto the bed. “ _I have something far more powerful at my disposal than poison, Evan._ ” She whispered to him, rolling him onto his back and leaned over him. “ _You should have listened to those cackling whores in town, to your stupid family, when they told you of my being a witch._ ” She hissed at him.

Evan whimpered, looking up at her, powerless.

“ _They were right._ ” She growled, moving away from him and into a drawer, popping out the false bottom to retrieve a roughly made doll from inside a secret compartment. “ _You've always been a silly and stupid man._ ” She said to him.

Picking a penknife up from the mantle of the fireplace, Helena used the sharp tip to prick the pad of Evan's finger, the fat bead of red blood welled up from the wound, which Helena wiped on the chest of the doll, then used the knife to cut off a lock of his blond hair and tied it around the doll's neck. Putting the knife aside, Helena retrieved one of her hatpins and stood between Evan's prone legs, stabbing the point of the pin through the shoulder of the doll, making Evan howl with agony. Helena quickly stabbed the doll in several more places, leaving Evan a withering mess on the bed, making her giggle at his agony. Taking out a cloth from the secret drawer with a black candle, she spread the cloth out on the floor, lit the candle by one of the others and waited a few moments for the wax to melt and dripped it into the pentacle with several other symbols around it. She laid the doll in the middle of the pentacle and started muttering under her breath.

“ _Adiuua me sororibus. Liberate me ab hoc viro._ ” Helena whispered, eyes rolling into the back of her head. “ _Now!_ ” She cried, and with a sudden gust of wind, all of the candles in the room went out, taking Evan's life with them.

The servants were woken the next morning with Helena's almost hysterical tears and screams. They rushed to her chambers, finding her clutching Evan to her breast and shaking, it was clear that he was dead, his body limp and unresponsive in her arms as she rocked him. It wasn't long after Evan's death and funeral, that Helena sought William out.

“ _William._ ” She smiled at him, lifting the black veil of her mourning dress.

“ _My dearest Helena._ ” William greeted her back, taking her hands in his and kissing each one of them. “ _I am sincerely sorry for your loss._ ” He told her, with a look of deep concern and pity. “ _My heart grieves for you._ ”

“ _Not so much as it yearns for me, I hope._ ” She frowned at him, clutching his hands in hers.

“Never, my rose.” He shook his head and touched his fingertips to her cheek. “ _How are you feeling?_ ”

“ _I am as well as can be._ ” She replied, turning her face into his hand. “ _But, I am endeared, to know that we can be together, without his interference._ ”

William smiled at her, cupping her cheek. “ _After your year of mourning, my sweet._ ” He bid her, kissing her forehead, tenderly.

“ _But, I can not wait such a long time to become your proper wife, William._ ”

“ _We have come this far, my love._ ” William answered, a similar frown on his face. “ _We have been one for nearly four years, surely, we can wait one more._ ” He entreated her.

Helena's body trembled with her pent up temper and wounded pride. “ _Very well, my dear William._ ” She sighed, biting the inside of her cheek, drawing blood, to prevent herself from losing her temper. “ _I will do this for you, as I do all other things for you._ ”

“And I for you, my beautiful rose.” He smiled, kissing both her hands and cheeks, before leaving her.

But, their year of waiting was cut short. Three months later, Evan's family stormed into the Duke's manor and confronted Helena for her part in his death.

“ _Helena McFayden-Shaw,_ ” Evan's second eldest brother, John, boomed as he thrust into the room with his other brother, Randall and his two sisters, Lark and Ella, with an official. “ _You are here with accused of not only the murder of my brother, Evan, but witchcraft and villainy._ ”

“ _What proof do you have?_ ” Helena asked, standing up from her seat, eyes ablaze.

The official held up the doll, still smeared with Evan's dried blood and a lock of his hair. “ _This._ ” He growled at her.

Helena growled back, eyes darting to her lady's maid, Lucia, who blanched and shrunk away from her mistress. “ _You no good wench._ ” She hissed at her as two guards came from behind and grabbed her by the arms, hauling her out of the house.

“ _Helena!_ ” Came the gasp of several women as she was tossed into a dungeon with twelve other women.

“ _They've gotten you all as well?_ ” She asked, looking around at her fellow sisters.

“ _Yes._ ” The voice that led you out into the storm answered, pushing through the crowd. “ _What do we plan on doing about this, Helena?_ ” She asked.

“ _I don't know, Alice._ ” Helena replied to her, glancing around the dank stone room. “ _We'll think of something._ ”

“ _Helena?_ ” A new voice echoed.

“ _William!_ ” Helena cried back, clinging to the door and pressing her face between the bars. “ _Oh, my dear William. It is so good to see you. Have you come to remove me from this place?_ ” She asked him, reaching her hand out to him, but he backed away.

“ _No. I've come to see, if the rumor was true, that you were being held for murder and witchcraft._ ” He told her, staying out of her grasp. “ _Now, that I have. I fear, it is true._ ”

Helena frowned, her stomach twisting into cold and sharp knots, and made a choice. “ _I did it for us, my love. So, we could be together._ ”

William's face pinched, between anger from being deceived and agony of his broken heart. “ _I will no longer support you, Helena. Though, it grieves my heart to part with you, I will not condone a murderess or a witch._ ” He told her, turning away.

“ _Please! Please, you said you loved me!_ ”

“ _I did love you! Until, I found out who you really were!_ ”

“ _William!_ ” Helena screamed after him, her voice echoing off the thick stone walls.

“ _We told you this love would be folly._ ” Alice's voice said, behind her. “ _Men are far too narrow-minded to understand the forces we command, they're too threatened by it._ ”

“ _Do not lecture me about our power, Alice!_ ” She hissed back, her honey-brown eyes glowing at the other witch. “ _He will learn to never cross me again._ ” She added, hands clasped into fists. “ _Form our circle._ ” She barked, gathering up her skirts and kneeling down on the filthy hay strewn floor.

The twelve other witches did as their mistress bid them, forming a circle with Helena in the middle of it. She pressed her palms to the floor, head thrown back and raven black hair wild about her face as it flowed over her shoulders.

“ _The power and elements will hear and heed my words,_ ” Helena called in a clear voice. “ _for the spite of men that have wronged us, cast us out and persecuted us, I bane all of those that will seek our harm, ruin and deaths, from this day forth, to be valid in the moment of our deaths._ ”

The other twelve echoed Helena's words, their eyes squeezed shut.

“ _I, Helena Marie McFayden-Shaw, curse thee, William James Cavill, and those who bear your name and blood, to death for forsaking me and my love, for breaking your promise. May this burden follow the line of your family, until it is fulfilled and only then, shall my soul, the soul of my sisters and your souls, be free of this world._ ” She roared, digging her nails into her palms until she drew blood. “ _Even in our death, sisters, we will carry out this curse, or shall we always be damned._ ”

– –

Henry stirred beside you, your whimpers and whines reaching his ears. Groaning and taking a deep breath, Henry sat up on his elbow, rubbing at the gritty sleep in his blue eyes and resting his palm against your cheek, feeling the clammy warmth of your skin, his eyes caught the bottle of laudanum and frowned. The bottle was more than half full the last he saw it, and now it was almost empty; his eyes panned back to you, startled.

“Y/n?” He shook you, feeling a panic rise in his chest.

You whimpered, frowning and reaching up to wrap your hands around his wrists. “Hen-ry” You mewled, squeezing his wrists in response to his shaking you.

“How much laudanum did you take?” Henry asked, caressing your cheek with his thumbs.

“I don't know.” You sighed, blinking your eyes open at him and turned your head to look at the bottle. “I didn't think, I took that much.” You grimaced at the bottle, a throbbing headache pulsing through your skull. “Honestly.” You added, seeing the crease between his eyebrows deepen. “Unless, I took it while I was asleep and didn't know it.”

“It's fine.” Henry sighed, sitting back. “How are you feeling?” He asked, looking you over.

“My body is still sore and my throat hurts.” You replied, wiping the sweat off your face.

“You still have the chills as well.” He pointed out, tucking the blankets around you as he felt your shiver. “What is it, what's wrong?” He asked, lifting a brow at you, your face suddenly paler. “Oh!” Henry gasped, eyes wide.

Throwing himself out of bed and rushing into the bathroom, Henry yanked the lid of the toilet up and pulled a towel off the bar, quickly folding it and setting it at the foot of bowl. He rushed back to you, pulling the blankets back and picked you up, carrying you into the bathroom and setting you down on your feet, holding onto your arm to steady you as you knelt down, the soft towel cushioning your knees. Henry held your hair out of your face, gently rubbing your back as you threw up, then helped you clean up and supported you back to bed.

“I'll go have Abby make you some peppermint tea.” He said, tucking you back in to the blankets. “I'll be right back.” He told you softly, and left the room, bumping into Dr. Syverson in the hall.

“How is the patient?” He asked Henry.

“Still very sick.” Henry replied, walking down the stairs with him. “She's taken to throwing up now.”

Syverson clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and shook his head. “Might I suggest bloodletting?” He asked, drumming his fingers against the side of his thigh. “It could drastically improve her condition.”

Henry stopped in his tracks on the way to the kitchen and turned to face the doctor. “Absolutely _not_.” He hissed at him, angered at the idea of spilling your blood. “She's already weak and she doesn't need to be made any worse. Especially, by being bled like a pig.”

“Of course, it was only a suggestion, my lord.” the Doctor nodded, bowing his head to Henry and excusing himself.

“Abby.” Henry called, turning back to the kitchen.

“Yes, sir?” Abby replied, appearing in the kitchen doorway.

“Please, brew some peppermint tea and have it brought up to the room.” He bid her, turning away. “And a piece of toast.” He added, looking at her over his shoulder, thinking a little substance would help ease your stomach.

“Right away, sir.” Abby curtseyed and turned back into the kitchen to prepare the tea and toast.

Heading back upstairs to you, Henry smiled, seeing you and Kal cuddled up in bed together. He pulled back the blankets and laid beside you, curving his body around yours, the three of you spooned together in bed.

“I think, I found out what the curse is, Henry.” You told him, sitting up in bed and sipping your tea.

Henry looked up at you, he was sitting at the desk by the window, writing letters for work that needed to go out as soon as possible. “How?” He gulped, setting his pen down and turning in his chair to look at you.

“It could just be feverish nonsense and babble.” You explained, shyly. “But, I dreamt of Helena and William.”

“That explains why you kept calling out his name.”

You blushed, the first real color you had in nearly a week. “I'm so sorry, I had--”

“You didn't know, sweet.” He assured you, got up and sat beside you, rubbing your leg. “Tell me, what you dreamt of”

You took a sip of your tea and started explaining to Henry what you had dreamed about in the feverish and laudanum-fueled hours of your restless sleep. You explained to him how Helena was very successfully married, for station and money, to the Duke of Lancaster, Evan Shaw. But, she wasn't faithful to her husband, she was having an apparent lengthy affair with one, Lord William Cavill.

“Wait, wait wait!” Henry intervened in your recount of the dreams, shaking his head. “My ancestor had an affair with yours?”

“Yes.” You nodded, smirking at the ridiculousness of it. “Helena and William were having relations.”

“Good lord.” He sighed, running his hand through his hair. “Go on, tell me the rest.” He said, getting up to retrieve the cup of tea, that Abby had thoughtfully made for him as well.

“Evan walked in on them having sex in her bedchamber, and understandably, lost his temper. Later on, Helena begged Evan for his forgiveness for her affair and he gave it to her.” You took another sip of your tea, your sore throat drying out quickly. “She asked him to go to her room, after dusk, under the pretense of making up with him further, I suppose.”

“But, that's not what she had in mind?” Henry asked, pulling a chair up to your side of the bed.

“No.” You shook your head at him. “He wasn't in her room long, before he was indisposed, thinking she had poisoned him.”

“Poisoned him?” He frowned, blinking at you.

“Yes, she had given him a goblet of wine, and soon after taking a few sips, he became violently ill.” You clarified to him. “But, she quickly laughed at him, because she had been drinking from the same goblet before he arrived, and she was clearly unaffected.”

“Then, how did he become so ill?”

“She claimed Witchcraft.” You sighed, biting the corner of your lip. “Which, knowing her as well as I do, doesn't surprise me in the slightest.” You confessed, tearing off a piece of toast. “But, Witchcraft or some sort of poison she built up a tolerance to, Evan collapsed onto her bed, shortly after. With him indisposed as he was, Helena took out a doll of some sorts. She pricked his finger and wiped the blood on the doll and took a lock of his hair as well. Then, took a hatpin to it and he howled in agony, as if it was him she was poking.” You frowned, still hearing the echoes of his screams in your mind.

“After tormenting him like that, she took out a cloth and a black candle, drawing a pentacle on it with the dripping wax and recited something in Latin.”

“What was it?”

You frowned, trying to recall the words. “ _Adiuua me sororibus. Liberate me ab hoc viro._ ”

“Help me sisters. Free me from this man.” Henry translated. “Her sisters?” He lifted his brow at you.

“The twelve witches from Pendle.” You replied. “He used the incantation to kill him. Then, feigned her distress at _finding_ him dead.” You explained. “Once he was dead, she expected to be with William from the offset, but he refused, saying they needed to wait out her one year of mourning.”

“I'm sure Helena didn't take that well.”

“Not in the slightest.” You shook you head at him. “But, she consented to wait the year out. Though, she never saw the year, for a few months later, Evan's family, with the authorities, stormed into the Duke's home and had Helena arrested for Witchcraft and murder. She was taken to the dungeons in Lancaster Castle, where she found the other twelve witches were also being held.” You told him, resting back against the pillows piled behind your back. “William visited her, not long afterwards. She was sure that he had come to have her freed, but he had only come to see if the rumors were true about her arrest, and Helena confessed that she had done it for them; so they could be together. In obvious horror, William renounced her and left.” You sighed and pressed your lips together.

“In a fit of rage, she and the twelve other witches, put a curse on him, themselves and anyone else wishing to interfere, until their deaths are avenged.”

“He broke her promise of love and she cursed him, and me for that matter, because of it.” Henry groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Did she tell you how to break said curse? While she was at showing you all this.”

“I don't think so.” You replied, biting your lip and scouring your mind for the answer.

“Doesn't matter.” Henry chimed into your thoughts. “We'll figure it out, when you are well again.” He told you, squeezing your hand and giving you a reassuring smile.

– –

“My love.” Henry beamed, seeing you come down the stairs, on your own.

It has taken almost a month for you to fully recover from your illness. In that month, you had left the master bedroom a few times, always Henry carrying you to sit in the sitting room or your library. When you were just strong enough to stand, he would support you out to the garden, making patient rounds about it or to sit on the veranda, a blanket tucked around your legs, so you could enjoy the fresh air and sunlight. It gave Henry immeasurable joy to see you making your way down the stairs to him, you still had faint paleness to your face and your legs still trembled slightly, but you were capable of making it down to him, smiling as he took you up into his arms, hugging you dearly against him and kissing your face and lips; overjoyed.

“It thrills me, to no end, to see you up and about on your own again.” He whispered into your ear, nuzzling your neck, softly.

“As it does me.” You whispered back and turned your head to kiss his cheek, feeling his smooth skin; he had shaved that morning.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, stroking his fingers through your hair.

“Well.” You replied, smiling up at him. “Very well.”

“Good.” Henry smiled back. “I'm glad to hear. Shall we have breakfast?” He asked, motioning to the dining room.

“Sounds excellent, I am starved.” You nodded and went with him, your appetite returned to you slowly, but was now back in full force, and you couldn't help thinking about wanting to eat everything in sight.

“My family has asked to come to dinner tonight.” Henry told you, taking a bite of his breakfast. “They wish to check up on you themselves, since my word isn't quite good enough.” He smirked, blue eyes sparkling. “If that's all right with you, of course. I don't want to tax you too soon and have you ill in bed again.” He added, regarding you.

“That does sound rather nice.” You replied, looking at him across the table. “It's the least we can do, they've been so attentive the last few weeks.” You told him, Marianne and your sister-in-laws had all come at least once to check up on you and keep you company for a while as you convalesced, and would love to return their goodness by hosting them at dinner.

“Then, I'll have one of the servants go and inform them, you feel well enough for us to entertain them tonight.” Henry smiled at you, the tension in his body that had built up over your illness slowly start to ease. “I need to go into the office, here in Chester, for a few hours.” Henry said, wiping his mouth after finishing his breakfast.

“Is there anything I can do for you, before I leave?” He asked, lifting a brow at you.

“No, not that I can think of.” You replied, finishing off your tea.

“All right then.” Henry smiled, standing up and kissing you. “I'll be back after lunch.” He told you, kissing you one more time, before grabbing his coat and heading out.

Finished with your breakfast, you found the energy to make a round in the garden, knowing the fresh air and activity would help you get strong again, then went upstairs to your library and picked up where you left off in the _Tale of Two Cities_ , killing time until lunch and Henry's return.

“My lady?” A servant called from the open door of your library, Maggie, if you remembered her name correctly.

“Yes?” You replied, setting your book down in your lap and looked back at her.

“I've told Lady Cavill and the others about dinner tonight.” Maggie told you, nervously wringing her hand in her apron. “They said, they would be arriving at eight-thirty.”

“Excellent. Thank you, Maggie.” You smiled, nodding your head to her.

“Of course, ma'am.” Maggie curtseyed and went back to her regular housework.

“Hello, sweetheart.” Henry smiled, entering the sitting room, where you were having your lunch.

“Henry.” You smiled back at him. “How was it at the office?” You asked as he sat down with you.

“As to be expected.” He replied, pouring himself some tea. “I have a gift for you, as well.” He added after taking a long drink.

“Oh, Henry.” You cooed, looking at him with soft disbelief. “You shouldn't have.”

“What's the point of having all this money, if I don't get to use it doting on you.” Henry said, cupping your chin for a moment, before pulling a box out of his pocket and opening it.

“Oh.” You sighed softly, eyes huge on the dangling teardrop, turquoise and copper earrings. “They're so beautiful.” You said, gently touching them with the pad of your index finger. “That's incredibly sweet and thoughtful of you, Henry.” You smiled at him, giddy.

“I hoped you would love them.” He smiled back, relieved.

“I love everything you give me.” You told him, cupping his cheek, affectionately. “Oh, your family will be here at eight-thirty for dinner.” You informed him, just remembering.

“Good, enough time for me to unwind.” He sighed and shrugged his shoulders.

“You're tense.” You frowned at him, reaching out to massage his thigh.

“Don't worry about it, my love.” He smiled at you, resting his hand on top of yours.

“I do worry about it.” You replied, frowning at him, with concerned. “You've been taxing yourself on my account.”

“I had to make sure you got well again.” Henry countered, smirking at you.

“And I am.” You smirked back and leaned forward. “Let me _repay_ you.” You purred at him with a wink.

“Oh.” Henry grinned, impishly. “That is a _very_ expensive bill to pay, love.” He rasped back, bringing your hand to his lips and kissing each of your knuckles.

“Worry not.” You giggled. “I'll have my husband pay for it.” You teased him with a smug smirk.

“Thankfully, he's a rich man.” Henry chuckled, standing and taking you with him. “Shall I show you to the _bank_?”

Your head fell back, grinning wildly, and laughing with all your heart. “I should like nothing more!” You assured him, allowing him to lead you upstairs to the master bedroom.

Henry closed the pocket doors to your bedroom and turned back to you, finding you were already undoing the stays of your dress and corset. He moved behind you, undoing the rest of them for you, both of them slipping off your body, leaving you in your silk chemise. Henry kissed your shoulder and neck, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you flush against him, you felt the strain in his trousers and moaned softly. You turned in his arms as he left a wet kiss just below your ear and opened his trousers, slipping your hand inside and rubbed your palm against his hard length, making Henry moan and shiver in response. Chuckling, you tugged his trousers down, then pushed him back on the bed, winking at him. Henry righted himself on the bed as you crawled in with him, straddling his waist and leaned back in to kiss him. He smirked against your lips, soothing his hands up and down your back before resting them on your hips, pushing them up so you could slip him inside your core.

“Oh, how sweet it is to be inside of you, y/n.” He purred into your ear, one hand grasping your breast as you sat up, rolling your hips to move him inside of you; watching.

“It feels good.” You panted, a light sheen of sweat breaking out over your body. “ _You_ feel good.” You moaned, hugging your walls around him and making him groan, bucking up into you, wildly. “Henry.” You moaned, out of breath.

“Y/n.” He moaned back and pulled you down against him, drawing up his knees and used his feet, planted on the mattress to thrust into you, his pent-up desire for you over the month spilling free as he came inside you, with you. “Y/n!”

Both of you laid heavily against each other, panting and trying to catch your breath, satisfied and relaxed, every trace of tension and worry that had been built and nurtured in your illness wash away. After a pleasurable cat nap and a bath, You and Henry dressed for the arrival of his family to dinner.

– –

“Y/n.” Marianne grinned as she came into the foyer with Colin. “It is so amazing to see you up and about again. How are you feeling?” She inquired, giving you a warm hug. “You have such color back in your cheeks.” She commented, holding your head in her hands to get a better look at you.

“Thank you.” You smiled at her, warmed by her motherly affection. “I am feeling very well, thanks to you all and Henry being so attentive to me.”

“It is no issue.” Heather, Charlie's wife, chimed in behind her mother-in-law. “It's the least we could do, you are family after all, _sister_.” She smiled at you, giving you a hug as well.

You blushed softly, still so unfamiliar with the loving affection everyone in Henry's family had and showed to you. You greeted all of them with the same warmth and affection they showed you, then showed them into the dinning room, sitting beside Henry at the head of the table, his father at the other end. The conversation was light and good natured, between business and fashion, the upcoming ball season and the need to get ready for the autumn cargo from the shipping company, and in preparation of winter. You were excited about the ball season, going to dances, especially with Henry, you were never able, or allowed to, go before. Now that you could, you couldn't help thinking about what to wear to them and needing to talk to Heather and your other sister-in-laws about the proper fashion trends for you to wear, so you didn't look foolish.

After dinner and dessert, all of you retired to the sitting room and started a lively and hilarious game of charades, until it grew late and they retired back to their homes, promising to host the next dinner and game, and looking forward to the next time you and Henry hosted.

“It was a fun night.” Henry smiled, sitting beside you on the love seat in the sitting room. “Did you enjoy it?” He asked, looking at you.

“I had a grand time.” You assured him, laying your head on his shoulder, very tired out.

Henry turned his head and took a deep breath of the scent of your hair and grinned, relaxing. “Good, I'm glad.” He whispered, content.


	5. Part V

The carriage pulled up out front of the Manor and you smiled seeing the Cavill family crest on the door, the well-dressed and immaculate driver in his seat at the front and the groom, who stepped off the back of the carriage to open the door for you and Henry. Henry appeared beside you, dressed sharply, and smiled at you, seeing your giddiness to attend your first proper ball. He kissed your cheek and stepped into the carriage with you and the driver got the horses going.

“Are you ready, my dove?” Henry asked, stepping out of the carriage and offering his hand to you.

“I am.” You replied, taking his hand and stepped out of the carriage, looking up at the grand house of architect, John Douglas, who had just finished moving into the house after two years of building it in his signature and popular fashion.

“Wow, it's really gorgeous.” You commented on it.

“That it is.” Henry agreed, looping his arm with yours, your hand resting on his forearm as you walked up, the sound of music and people flowing out of the open double doors.

You couldn't help the wonder in your big and bright eyes, it was like nothing you had seen before. The house was so grand, it was big and spacious, the endless sea of candles made the marble floors glitter with the Douglas family crest in tile on the floor, huge crystal and gold, twenty-eight candle chandeliers were in nearly every room, the rugs and tapestry were the finest Turkish and Persian that could be found and bought, gold sconces lining the walls at appropriate distances, two dual spiral staircases of highly polished ash wood with wrought iron banisters gave the foyer and cavernous feel in all its splendor. Henry grinned at your almost child-like wonder and excitement over the house, like you opened the best present under the Christmas tree.

“Ah!” A voice called, startling you out of your amazement and your eyes found Elizabeth Edmunds-Douglas, John's wife, the pair who had been married shortly before you and Henry married, after a three year courtship. “Mr. and Mrs. Cavill, how lovely of you to make it.” She cooed at you both, kissing cheeks with you, in greetings.

“It was very nice of you to invite us, Mrs. Douglas.” You replied, returning her greeting.

“Oh, by all means, please call me Effie.” She laughed, playfully slapping you on the arm.

“I'm going to see if one of my brothers are here.” Henry said, bringing his mouth close to your ear. “Will you be all right?” He whispered, glancing at your eyes.

“I'll be fine.” You assured him, kissing his cheek.

“Madam.” He smiled at Effie, bowing his head politely, before vanishing into the crowd.

“I absolutely love your dress.” Effie exclaimed, looking you over.

You were wearing a blue-gray, sleeveless, off the shoulder and patterned ball gown, matching ribbons in your hair and tied in a bow around your wrists, the turquoise and cooper dangling earrings Henry had bought you hung from your earlobes, with the newest addition to your jewelry box; an oval Ceylon and white sapphire pendant necklace, tying in the rest of your outfit with silvery-gray flats. You and Heather had scoured catalogs and dressmaker shops for the latest fashions for dresses, then had the dress you were wearing made in time for the ball at the Douglas's.

“Thank you so much.” You blushed, nodding your head to her, graciously.

“So, tell me.” Effie lowered her voice and leaned in closer to you. “Is it true, your father was murdered?” She asked, eyes panning around as if she was going to find the killer in the crowd.

“I-”

“Y/n!” Heather's voice chimed behind you. “You look amazing” She complimented you, giving you a hug and kiss on the cheek. “Oh, hello, Effie.” She smiled at the hostess, greeting her with a kiss on the cheek. “It's such a lovely party you have going tonight, and the house is so marvelous.”

You let out a soft breath of relief, grateful that Heather saved you from an awkward and painful conversation, that Effie would no doubt go and recount to the rest of the ladies at the party. Heather's stealthy glance at you, tells you that she knew where Effie was going, and you gave her a soft and thankful smile. Heather stayed by your side as Effie showed you both where the ladies were congregating, you took a glass of wine from the platter a waiter was carrying around the various occupied rooms and sat down in a comfortable chair in the circle of ladies, listening to them talk about household issues, fashion ideas, books they had read, their children and whatever else came up. You were really enjoying yourself, the camaraderie in the group of ladies, they were warm and welcoming to you, not like the parties your parents threw at Long Haven where everyone ignored you like the plague or did their best to be rude and impolite.

“Y/n, you and Mr. Cavill are just recently married, were you not?” one of the ladies, Mona, asked, turning her attention to you.

“Yes.” You nodded, taking a fortifying sip of your wine. “We've been married two months this week.” You informed her, nervously licking your lips.

“How are you finding it?” She asked, lifting a brow at you.

“Marriage?” You frowned at her. “I am finding it quite well. I rather enjoy being married, especially to Henry. He's very loving and attentive of me.”

“So, you suggest it?” Mona continued, and you felt like she was trying to trap you into something.

“I do, if you find the right man.” You replied, standing your ground and giving her a look that told her you weren't going to play a childish game with her.

Mona dropped whatever it was she was trying to pull out of you and the conversation turned back to something more lively and appropriate. It wasn't long afterwards, though, the dancing started and the husbands appeared to whisk their wives away to the dance floor. You smiled at Henry as you took your place on the dance floor with him, glad to be in his presence again.

“How are you enjoying yourself?” He asked, taking the lead as you danced.

“Very much.” You assured him, relaxing under his hands and guidance. “Are you?” You asked back.

“Not as much.” He replied with a smirk.

“And why is that?” You asked, lifting a brow.

“Because, I'd rather enjoy the night with you.” He confessed, an impish glint in his eyes.

“Then, why don't you?” You giggled up at him.

“I think I will.” He purred, bending his head to kiss you lightly on the lips. “Would you like a glass of champagne?” He asked, when the song ended.

“I would, thank you.” You nodded, moving off the dance floor with him.

“I'll be right back, then.” He smiled, kissing your cheek and going off to fetch some.

You shivered as a cold chill streaked down your back and turned around, expecting an open window, but instead found, with a startled gasp, the milky whiteness of an apparition. You could see your reflection in the tall, gilded wood mirror behind him, he was mostly solid from the head to the very top of his thin shoulders, then slowly became less so, until his mid-waist, where his hips and legs vanished completely. The only color on him was his black eyes and the floating wisps of blood from the gaping wound from a slit in his throat; his obvious cause of death. He opened his contorted mouth and made a god awful sound that made your skin heat up and crawl, taking a deep breath you turned on your heels and headed straight out the open veranda doors and into the backyard of the Douglas estate, the white gravel crunching under the thin leather soles of your flats. Henry returned, holding the two glasses of champagne he promised, but found you not where he had left you. Setting the glasses down on a nearby table, he panned the room for you and just caught a split glimpse of you quickly retreating along the walkway looping the back garden.

Frowning, Henry made his way out there, using the advantage of his long legs to catch up with you. “Y/n?” He called out, when he was close enough, not wanting to startle you.

You stopped in your tracks, turning to look back at him and allowing Henry to see the frustrated expression on your face and the glassy darkness of your eyes. “I just needed some air. I didn't mean to abandon you.” You told him, your voice weak with unshed tears.

Henry shook his head at the silly notion. “Nonsense.” He assured you, brushing the pad of his thumb over your cheek. “What is it?” He asked, concerned.

“Just one night.” You sighed, shoulders slumping. “Just one bloody night, that's all I ask. One night without _them_ bothering my peace and happiness.”

“Hm.” He nodded, pressing his lips together, understanding immediately. “I must admit, I didn't think there would be one, in such a new house.” He commented, tucking your hand into the crook of his elbow and continued walking with you.

“I'm not sure it is the house, more the grounds.” You elaborated, catching the sight of a small child, standing at the edge of the treeline surrounding the house and grounds. “Was there a house here, before Mr. Douglas owned the land?” You asked, lifting a brow at him.

“Yes, I believe so.” Henry replied, his brow creasing as he thought it over. “It was smaller and didn't contain as much land, as it does now. If I remember correctly, a widow lived here by himself after his wife died and his children moved away, but that was some years back.” He explained to you, the crease melting away as he looked down at you.

“Makes sense.” You answered, resting your shoulder against his.

“How about one more dance, then we'll return home.” Henry suggested, looking up at the darkening sky and bright thumbnail moon.

“I don't want to ruin your fun.” You replied, looking up at him, troubled.

“My love, my fun and happiness is wherever _you_ are.” He smiled at you, pulling you to a stop and cradling your head in his hands. “I love you.” He whispered, kissing you softly on the lips. “So very much.”

“I love you, just as much.” You whispered back, returning his kiss.

– –

You hummed happily, as you lay naked on top an equally naked Henry, back at home in the perfect bliss of your bed chambers. Fingertips tracing circles and swirls over his chest and collarbone, ear pressed to the space above his heart, the steady and strong beat so reassuring and soothing.

“You are so beautiful.” Henry whispered, breaking the peaceful silence between you, brushing his fingers through your loose hair and chuckled as you blushed. “What? It's true.”

“Oh, I believe you.” You giggled, resting your chin on his chest, to look up at him.

“Then, why are you blushing?” He laughed, touching his fingertips to your warmed cheek.

“I don't know.” You replied, blushing even harder.

Laughing again, Henry rolled over and wrapped your legs around his waist, kissing at your neck and chest. You sighed softly, melting beneath him, brushing your fingers through his sweat damp curls and over his back, gripping his thrusting hips. Spent between attending the ball and staying up to the wee hours of the morning, you and Henry fell soundly asleep in each other's arms, content and satisfied.

You gasped, eyes shooting open and gulped down the thick wad of anxiety that had formed in your throat, then relaxed back against your pillow, the nightmare you were having still all too real and fresh in your mind. Sighing and glancing at Henry from the corner of your eye, he laid on his stomach beside you, arms folded under his head. You threw back the covers, pulled on a robe and went downstairs to the kitchen, not bothering to wake Abby, as you made yourself a glass of warm milk and started back upstairs with it. A bang somewhere, either outside or in, startled you, causing you to drop the full glass.

“Christ.” You sighed, rolling your eyes at your own silliness, you knelt down to start picking up the pieces of broken glass.

“ _Niece._ ”

“Good God.” You jerked and accidentally cut your finger with a piece of glass, blood dripping into the spilled milk. “Helena.” You sighed, glaring up at her as she stood in the doorway of the sitting room. “How are you even here?” You asked, annoyed with her persistence in troubling your life and marriage.

“ _Ruby Red._ ” Helena hissed back at you, then vanished as Abby's footsteps came into the room.

“Milady, are you well?” She asked, standing behind you.

“Yes.” You nodded, dropping your eyes back to the floor. “I just came down for some warm milk, and accidentally dropped the glass.” You told her, standing up.

“You've cut yourself.” Abby gasped, taking your bloody hand in hers.

“Very clumsy of me, I know.” You frowned back.

“Come, allow me to bandage it for you.” She begged you, pressing a handkerchief from her pocket around it. “I'll clean this mess up afterwards.”

“Very well.” You nodded, giving into her well meaning gesture.

Abby guided you back into the kitchen and had you sit down on a stool, at the long table there and disappeared for a moment, coming back with a small roll of bandages and a small vial of antiseptic. “It will sting for a moment.” She warned you, uncorking the vial and pouring a bit of it on your cut, making you hiss and tense up in response.

“My apologies, milady.”

“It's not your fault, Abby.” You assured her, watching her carefully bandage your finger.

“Are you all right, milady?” Abby asked again, moving about the kitchen and pulling out a teapot, filled it with water and set it on the stove to heat. “You seem very troubled, if I may be so frank.”

“You may.” You nodded, picking at the edge of your bandage.

“Is it with my Lord?” She dared to ask, brewing you both a cup of tea.

“Gods no.” You shook your head at her. “Henry's incredible. He's very doting, loving, attentive and supportive of me, in all things. I have only ever felt love and devotion from him.” You assured her, gratefully taking the steaming cup from her and nodding your head to the stool beside you.

“Then, what troubles you so?”

You chuckled, sipping your tea, if only this woman knew and understood the things you toiled with, you thought, glancing out the open kitchen door to the spilled milk and blood on the foyer floor. No matter where you went or were going, there was always a ghost stalking you, lurking over your shoulder; whether they said anything to you or not, and most of the time they didn't need to, you just felt it, as if it was your own.

“By my father's death, mostly.” You finally admitted, you had been so consumed in trying to find out the cause and resolution of the Curse, that your father's death and his murderer, still at large, had been pushed to the back of your mind, but it still nagged you in every way possible. “I fear that his killer will never be found and put to justice. That his poor soul will forever be restless.”

Abby frowned down at her cup, pressing her lips together. “I can not say I understand your pain, though I understand the loss of a father. My own father died, when I was just a wee lass of eight.”

“How did he die?” You inquired, lifting a brow at her.

“Consumption.” She sighed, taking a sip of her tea. “Took him quickly, but painfully.”

“I am so sorry.” You frowned, resting your hand on hers. “It isn't easy losing a loved one.”

“That it is not, milady.” Abby nodded, warmed by your kind affection. “I will pray, before returning to bed, that your father's spirit will find his just rest.”

You smiled gently at her, squeezing her hand. “I thank you, and will do the same for yours.” You promised.

After finishing your tea and thanking Abby for her kindness, you went back upstairs to bed, but frowned finding Henry laying on his back and blankets kicked off his naked body in agitation, throwing his head side to side with an expression pinched in anguish and distress, a heavy sweat pouring from his forehead. You quickly crawled into bed with him, wiping his face with the sleeve of your robe and rubbed his heaving chest.

“Ssshh, my love.” You cooed at him, affectionately, brushing his damp curls off his forehead as more droplets of sweat collected there. “It's all right, my sweet puppy.” You stroked the side of his face, trying to soothe and calm him. “It's only a dream.” You murmured, kissing his cheeks.

“No!” Henry suddenly screamed, bolting up right.

“It's all right, Henry.” You called to him, hugging him with one arm and rubbing his back with the other, feeling him shiver against you, the cool air of the room wafting over his sweaty body. “Ssshhh, you're all right now, Puppy.” You cooed at him, kissing his hair and temple, gently.

Henry panted and gasped for air.

“Come, lay your head, man.” You whispered to him.

Turning in your arms, Henry wrapped his arms around you, pulling you down on the bed and laid half over you, his face pressed to your chest, taking slow deep breaths, calming himself with the warmth of your body and the scent of your skin. You relaxed, cuddling and cradling his muscular body against your dainty one, rubbing the back of his tousled hair with the palm of your hand and humming a soft tune that Grace would hum to you, when you had a nightmare.

“I'm sorry.” Henry whimpered against the skin of your breast, nuzzling his head between them. “I didn't mean to wake you.”

You chuckled softly, running your fingers from his forehead to the nape of his neck. “I was already awake, love.” You assured him, soothingly. “What were you dreaming of?”

“Blood.” He sighed, pressing his ear to your ribcage, to the beating of your heart. “Blood, that was everywhere,--”

“Leaking from the walls and dripping from the ceilings, filling the room like a pond.” You added in, your eyes losing focus as you remembered the nightmare that had woken you, an hour before.

Henry tilted his head back to look up at you. “You had the same dream?” He asked, surprised.

“I did.” You nodded, licking your lips. “But,” You sighed and shook your head. “It's just a dream, Puppy. None of it is real, don't let it bother you now.” You whispered to him.

“And you?” Henry purred back, squeezing his arms around your waist.

“I'm used to such things, love. You know that.”

“Doesn't make it any better, Nugget.” He replied, a teasing smile on his full lips.

“No, but it'll do.” You chuckled, kissing his forehead and thinking about what Helena said to you downstairs.

Ruby Red.

Whatever was she hinting at?

– –

“You'll be back as soon as I can!” Henry called out to you as he got ready to head out the door.

“That's fine!” You called back to him, getting dressed for the day.

“What do you have planned today?” He asked, popping into the room and searching for something.

“I'm going over to Manchester.” You replied, adjusting your skirts.

“What for?” Henry frowned, pausing for a second to look at you.

“To visit a library.” You elaborated, satisfied with your skirts and turned to look back at him.

“We have a library here in Chester, Manchester is an hour away, both ways.” He pointed out, shaking his head as he continued his search for whatever he wanted.

“I know, but Chetham's Library has something _specific_ I want and being the oldest library in Britain, it's libel to have it. I'm sure they have it, I sent a telegram to them a few days ago inquiring about it and they sent me a reply yesterday afternoon to express they had it in stock and would hold it for me.” You explained to him, watching him move about the room.

“What are you looking for?”

“My cuff-links.” He huffed, frustrated.

“They're where you left them, you silly boy.” You chuckled, going to the drawer of his desk and pulled out the silver links with his initials. “You put them there after the Morris' party last week.”

“What would I do without you?” Henry smirked as you secured his cuff-links.

“Probably be half naked and disheveled.” You giggled.

“I love you.” He smiled, cupping your face in his hands and kissed you, holding you close for a long moment.

You rested your hands on Henry's waist and stood there with him, feeling the warm and safe bubble that always formed around you both, when you were in close proximity. “I love you too.” You whispered back. “And might I add, you look absolutely dashing in a three-piece suit?” You said, looking him over in the navy blue three-piece suit with a charcoal gray dress shirt.

“So handsome.” You hummed, biting your lip.

“As long as you think so.” Henry chuckled, kissing your forehead. “Be careful on your way to Chetham's.” He added, stepping away from you to take his jacket back up off the end of the bed.

“I will.” You assured him, taking up your hat, pinning it in your hair and headed out to the carriage waiting to take you to Manchester. “Morning, Brandon.” You smiled at the driver as he handed you inside.

“Morning, Mrs. Cavill.” Brandon smiled back, closing the carriage door after you and hopped up into the driver's spot.

The hour's drive to the library in Manchester wasn't altogether unpleasant, you had never seen this part of England before and it was nice to see the rolling hills and small towns you went through on your way there, you felt the small world you were locked in for so long start to expand around you. You didn't think it was possible to feel any freer than you had already in marrying Henry, but found it pleasant to be proven wrong.

“I shouldn't be too long, Brandon.” You said, stepping out of the carriage and into the library, the pleasant smell of books greeting your nose, as you made your way to the front desk.

“Hello, Ms.” the Librarian smiled at you. “How can I help you?” She asked.

“I'm Mrs. Cavill, I sent a telegram the other day inquiring after a book that I was told was in and waiting for me to pick up.”

“Yes, of course.” She nodded, standing up from her stool behind the counter and bustled into a backroom for a few moments before coming back with a two-hundred page book in her hand. “Here you are, Mrs. Cavill. _The Accurate Account of the Pendle Witches_.” She said, reading off the spine. “An interesting subject.” She commented, getting you set to take the book with you.

“It is.” You agreed, nodding. “Just doing some research on family.”

“Was your family witches?” She asked, lifting a startled brow at you.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “No, quite the opposite.” You told her, amused.

“Witch hunters, then?”

“That's the rumor, I'm hoping to discover.” You replied, taking the book from her. “Thank you.” You smiled at her.

“Of course, have a good day, Mrs. Cavill.” She bid you, going back to her work.

Getting back to the house and getting Abby to brew you a pot of tea, you went up to your library and settled in with the book, flipping open to the index page, running your finger down the chapters and the witches they were named after, until you found Helena's, then went to that chapter. You started by skimming through the twenty page chapter, seeing if anything jumped out at you, and froze at the last page of the chapter, noting her burial.

_'With justice brought to the head witch and murderess, Helena Shaw, her remains were interred in her family plot, in East Park Cemetery, London.'_

You frowned, blinking at the yellowed page, why would Helena be buried in the family plot, when her brother, Walter, was the one that gave her up to the mob, who would then burn her at the stake on the family property; it didn't make sense at all. Confused, you flipped back to the start of the chapter and started reading it completely. By the time you finished the chapter, you didn't learn much of anything you didn't already know and only gave you more questions than you already had. You had just opened the front cover of the book, to start from the beginning, when rushed footsteps came down the hall and Maggie appeared in the doorway of your library, all out of breath, flushed and looking wild eyed.

“What is it, Maggie?” You asked, setting your book on the small table by the arm of your chair.

“It's Mr. Cavill.” She gasped, trying to catch her breath.

“What of him?” You gulped, feeling her anxiety start to infect you.

“There's been an accident at the mine.” She told you, all rushed out in one weak breath.

“Oh god!” You gasped, jumping up from your chair, gathered up your skirts and rushed down the hall with her, heading for the door. “Henry!” You cried, seeing him coming up the front steps with Charlie and Simon, a bleeding cut on his forehead.

“I'm all right, love.” He smiled at you, still his happy-go-lucky self. “I'm fine, y/n. I promise, it's nothing serious.” He assured you, catching you up in his arms and hugging you tight. “It was just a minor rock fall, nothing serious or dangerous.”

“It doesn't take much to kill someone, Henry. Especially with a head wound.” You fretted, gently holding his head in your hands and checking the cut at the edge of his hairline. “You'll need stitches, no doubt.” You sighed, relieved he was all right.

“I can have Abby do it.” He told you, kissing your forehead. “Did you get the book you wanted from Manchester?” He asked, as he sat in the sitting room with a glass of brandy after Abby stitched up his wound.

“I did.” You nodded, sitting close to him.

“What book did you get?” He asked, sipping his drink with groan as his head throbbed.

“ _The Accurate Account of the Pendle Witches, circa. 1680._ ” You replied, wincing as you heard him groan.

“There's a book on Helena and the Witches?” Henry frowned at you, surprised, then hissed as it pulled on his stitches.

“There is, they were the most public English Witch Trials the country has ever seen.” You explained to him. “But, this was the only copy of the book not in a private collection.”

“Did you learn anything?”

“Um, nothing we didn't already know about them.” You sighed, staring down at your glass of wine. “But, there is one thing.” You whispered, ringing your finger around the rim of the glass.

“What is it?” He asked, scooting to the edge of his seat.

“I don't know who, or if it was misinformation, but according to the book, Helena was buried in my family's plot, in East Park Cemetery.”

“Your family, no offense, allowed her to be burned at the stake for being a witch and murderer, then turned around and buried her in the sacred family cemetery?” He tried to grasp what you were telling him.

“Yes.” You nodded, taking a gulp of your wine.

“Have you ever noticed the other plots there?” He asked. “Seen, if it's true?”

You let out a deep breath and lifted your eyes at Henry, giving him a look that he instantly understood; you had hardly left Long Haven property long enough to visit the summer house in Suffolk, you had only seen the area of the cemetery your family was buried in long enough to bury your father, and then you weren't looking anywhere else.

“I have to go into London, next week, on business at the Port. Why don't you come with me, and we'll visit the cemetery to see her plot for ourselves?” He suggested, finishing off his brandy. “Be our own little detectives.” He smirked, trying to lighten your mood.

“I can go for a distraction.” You smiled softly at him.

“Good.” He smiled back, gently patting your knee.

– –

The cool sea air felt good as it whipped your skirts around your feet, you always got a faint whiff of it back at Long Haven, but you were too far for the full experience of it, and now that you did, you were smitten with the sea. Henry smiled over at you as he spoke to the captain and first mate to one of the many ships the Munro Shipping Company had in its employment. You stood on the pier, gripping the railing as you looked out over the water and waves, watching the seagulls dive at the water and the tangles of kelp floating by.

“Beautiful, is it not?” Henry asked, stepping up beside you at the railing, and took a deep breath of sea air.

“Completely.” You nodded, smiling up at him.

Henry rested his arm around your waist, his hand cupping your hip. “I would love to take you to St. Helier one day.” He said, softly. “Show you where I was born, take you to my favorite beaches there.”

“I would be delighted to see it.” You replied, gently smiling at the thought of it.

Henry smiled down at you, touched. “Shall we go see Helena?” He asked, a playful sparkle in his blue eyes.

“I am.” You chuckled, nodding at him.

It was a short fifteen minute carriage ride to the cemetery, then four or five minutes to reach the part of the forest of tombstones and mausoleums the McFayden section of the East Park Cemetery. It was beautiful, it was shaded by three large willow trees, it was cool beneath them, their canopies shielding the area from the cloudless sun. One side of the section was reserved for the members of your family that wished to be buried in the ground and the other half held a large mausoleum. Your, however many, great-grandparents were the first to be buried in the mausoleum and held the prime and honored tomb in the center of it, both buried in a large marble coffin with their likenesses carved on top of the lid, their names, dates of birth and deaths stamped on a polished brass plate on the foot of the coffin.

Henry pushed open the wrought iron gate leading into the mausoleum and stepped aside, allowing you to go inside first. You paused, looking up at the McFayden name chiseled into the marble header above the doorway, gulped thickly and steeling yourself, you stepped inside the dank and musty air of the enclosed space, almost three hundred years of decaying flesh and dusty bones, even with the scent the mausoleum was still immaculate, the upkeep your family paid handsomely for. Sighing, you walked around the circular room, looking up and down the curving wall, five coffins high, several where still empty and open, the front panel waiting to seal in its new occupant the day of their funeral.

“I don't see her name in here.” Henry said, his voice echoing from the other side of the mausoleum.

“Or here.” You replied, meeting him in the middle. “I suppose she's outside.” You added, touching your fingertips to the chiseled name of your father on the panel that housed his coffin and body. “It's incredible to think it's been almost seven months since he died.” You whispered, a shiver running down your back; seven months for his death and six months, since you and Henry married.

“It's a wonder, where the time goes.” He agreed, staring at your father's name.

“It stops for the dead and keeps going for the living.” You whispered, turning and stepping back out into the fresh air and shade.

You stood there for several moments, eyes closed and breathing in the cool air, clearing out the musty smell inside the mausoleum out of your nostrils, before moving to the tombstones of the opposite side of the area; walking up and down the eight or nine rows. You were starting to think the book had it wrong, when you noticed a much neglected head stone against the brick wall that defined the borderline of the cemetery. A very cold chill raced down your spine as you neared it, your twisting gut telling you what it was before you ever reached it. The front of the stone was faded and very worn, but you could still just make out the letters of Helena's name.

_Helena Marie McFayden-Shaw  
Born 30th of October 1588  
Died 23rd of August 1613_

“She ain't there there, you know.” A voice startled you. “Sorry, Miss.” An elderly gentleman apologized, tipping his dusty and tattered bowler hat at you.

You blinked at him, hand pressed to your pounding heart. “What do you mean _not_ there?” You asked, finding your voice. “Her headstone is, why wouldn't she?”

“Her brother felt bad about giving her up to those witch hunters, and out of his grief, he had her headstone put up. But, no one's brave enough to tend to the grave of a witch, in the ground below or no.”

“How do you know this?” Henry asked, stepping out of the mausoleum.

“My family's tended this cemetery for generations.” He replied, leaning on the broom he was carrying. “I know just about every story and rumor about every grave in this place.” He explained, scratching his grizzled beard.

“Then, where is she buried?” You asked him, lifting a brow and tilting your head at him.

“Well,” He scratched at his temple, pushing his hat up off his sloped forehead. “Rumor, I heard was she was buried by her old man.”

Your eyes shot to Henry, who's eyes shot to you.

“Her _old man_?” Henry frowned, looking the groundskeeper over. “You mean her husband, Evan?” He asked, trying to get him to give more information.

“Could be.” He nodded, still scratching his temple. “That's all I heard said on the matter.”

“Thank you.” You said, licking your lips.

He tipped his hat to you and Henry and went on his way.

“I doubt Evan's family would bury Helena with him, especially after she killed him.” You said to Henry, as you left the cemetery. “Even if it was his last dying wish or in his will.”

“I'm inclined to agree with you.” Henry replied, handing you into the carriage and following after you. “So, that only leaves one other person.” He sighed, rubbing the side of his face.

“William.” You both said at the same time.

“Well, when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?” Henry said, resting back in his seat as the carriage took you both back to the train station.

“Do you know where he's buried?” You asked him, resting your head on his shoulder.

“I do not.” Henry shook his head. “But, I'm sure either my father, or my mother, do.”

You and Henry went to go see his parents as soon as you left the train, which was a surprise to Marianne and Colin, but still incredibly welcome. Showing you to the tea room and chatted for a little while, before finding the nerves and bravery to ask what was on your mind.

“Do you know where Uncle William is buried?” Henry asked, setting his teacup down on its saucer.

“Of course, he's buried next to your grandmother, Gladys.” Colin nodded, refilling his own cup.

“No, I meant _great_ -uncle William.” He elaborated, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

“You mean, William Richard Cavill?” Colin frowned, shaking his head at his son. “Born 1586 and died 1620. _That_ Uncle William?”

“Yes.” Henry nodded, trying to be as nonchalant as possible, and took a bite of his pound cake.

“Why?” Marianne frowned, recalling the conversation the three of you had several months back. “Why do you keep bringing William up?” She asked, shifting in her seat to cross her ankles and fixed Henry with a purely maternal look that dared him to lie to her, making Henry gulp and clear his throat.

You looked between the three of them and felt the palms of your hand start to sweat with anxiety, but you summoned the composed genes your mother instilled in you and used them for some good, keeping your face calm and neutral and pressed your palms together in your lap. “Henry's been working on his own little family history project and wants to learn more about the men he's named after. He already knows a good deal about his great-grandfather, Henry, but not much about the great-uncle William he received his middle name from.” You chimed in, saving Henry as he started to break under his mother's gaze.

“Exactly.”

Henry added in, taking your hint and lead. “I know where great-grandfather Henry is buried and all about him. But, I don't know much about great-uncle William or where he's buried.” He explained, relaxing as his mother's gaze returned to normal and reached out to squeeze your hand.

“Well,” Colin sighed, rubbing the side of his jaw. “He was the only Cavill, before us, of any distinguished station, being the Chief Justice of Pendle at the time. So, he would be buried in St. Leonard’s Graveyard in Downham, Lancashire. I don't know the _exact_ location of his grave site in the cemetery, but I'm sure there are records of that at the cemetery itself.”

“That's only about an hour away.” Henry said, looking at you.

“Yes.” Colin nodded. “I'm sure one of your cousins still lives there.” He added.

“Cousins?” Henry frowned. “He married?”

“Yes, he married in 1615 and had two children before his death.” He explained to his shocked son. “His poor wife died giving birth to their third child in 1618, as did the child.”

– –

The next day, you and Henry made the hour's trip to the St. Leonard's graveyard in Lancashire. Inquiring with the groundskeeper about where William's grave could be in the vast area, and after going through several log books, the son of the groundskeeper showed you where it was. Both you and Henry were shocked to find, not only William's grave, but the grave of his wife, Agatha, to the right of his grave, but a flat marker with Helena's name to the left.

“Dear God, he did have her buried beside him.” You gasped, pressing a hand to your heart. “He forsaked her love, hunted her down and burned her at the stake, only to have her later buried next to his future plot and one over from his legal wife's.” You shook your head, completely baffled. “He even named his surviving daughter after her.” You pointed to the plot on the other side of Agatha's grave. “And his son, Fredrick, next to her.”

“Maybe, he never did stop loving her. He was just trying to save face, so he wasn't considered an accomplice.”

You kept shaking your head at the markers, your brain struggling to wrap around the reality of the situations. “The castle where the witches were held is only a few minutes away from here, why don't we find out if we can check out the dungeon they were held in?” You suggested, looking over at him.

“All right.” Henry nodded, figuring it couldn't hurt.

“Can you help you, sir and ms.?” The man at the castle asked as you and Henry approached.

“We wanted to see the dungeon the Pendle Witches were held in.” Henry replied to him.

“I'm sorry, I can't allow that just now.” He replied.

Henry glanced at you and smirked, before pulling out a few notes out of his pocket. “Not even for a hundred pounds?” He asked, lifting a nonchalant brow at the other man, holding the roll of notes out to him.

The man's eyes panned around and took the money from Henry's hand. “Right this way.” He said, stepping aside and motioning to his left. You chuckled at Henry, shaking your head as the man showed the pair of you down to the dungeons, he smirked back at you, ducking his head to enter the hallway leading to the dungeons.

“I can give you twenty minutes, sir. Nothing more, before someone will notice.” He explained, taking a post at the door.

“That's more than enough time.” Henry assured him.

“It's the last door.” He pointed out, then ducked back outside to keep watch.

“There's almost nothing a bit of money can't buy.” Henry quipped as you walked down the dim hallway to the last cell.

“It does make many things in life a lot easier.” You agreed, hugging your shawl tighter around you as the cold and dank air chilled your skin.

“Well, this is it.” Henry sighed, grabbing the loop in the warped wood door and used a good amount of his strength to yank it open. “What?” He frowned at your slack jawed look.

“We're in the right place.” You mumbled, blindly stepping into the cell and looked up at Helena.

Helena hovered, as always, above the floor of the dungeon she last shared with her fellow witch-sisters. But, she was no longer the apparition you grew up knowing, she looked almost real and human now, but her eyes were still a pure black. You stepped closer to her, Henry standing in the doorway as he watched you stare up at what he couldn't see, but knew was there.

“She's here?” He asked for confirmation.

“Yes.” You nodded, licking your lips, studying her. “You've been trying to lead me here all along, haven't you?” You asked, blinking up at her.

“ _Yes_.” She replied in an almost normal voice.

“Well, we're here.” You said, lifting a brow at her. “What now?”

Helena raised her arm and pointed to the stone bench built into the wall to your right. “ _Sit_.” She whispered with a soft moan.

Frowning and shaking your head, you did as she said and sat down on the bench and Helena moved closer to you, reaching a hand to touch you and cup your cheek in her palm, making you gasp at the frigid feel of her touch and a white flash in your eyes.

“Y/n?” Henry frowned, stepping closer to you, but found himself physically incapable of going any farther. “Helena.” He hissed, knowing she was trying to prevent him from reaching you.

When the white flash faded from your vision, you could still see the cell you were in, but it was no longer the cell you entered with Henry, you didn't even see Henry any more. You saw the flesh and blood of Helena, like you were a spectator in the ceiling, watching her below as she sat on the bench you, in reality, occupied. She was alone in the cell, all the other witches had already met their fates and deaths at the stake, noose or the bottom of a lake. They were saving Helena for last, killing her sisters and dearest friends one by one, to torment her, teasing her with her eventual fate at their hands.

Her legs were drawn up to her chest inside her filthy skirt, gently rocking back and forth, her raven black hair filthy and matted; she looked so pitiful and pathetic, nothing like her normal self-assured and confident self before. She was twisting something around her dirty finger as she hummed softly to herself, you caught a glimpse of what it was as she twisted back to the top of her finger, it was a ring. A silver ring with silver roses on the band and in the setting on top of it was a red gem, a ruby.

It clicked in your mind, what she had said to you that night after your nightmare about the blood; _Ruby Red_. A Red Ruby, and it all made sense. William had affectionately called Helena his rose, he had given her the ring, its design like a rose.

Your vision changed again, farther back in time. Helena and William sitting on a blanket under a tree, enjoying the beautiful summer day in the shade, William's head cradled in Helena's lap. He reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small velvet box and opened it, level at Helena's eyes, presenting her with the very same ring.

“ _What's this for, Will?_ ” She asked, as he sat up and took her hand delicately in his.

“ _It's my promise._ ” William replied, carefully slipping the ring on the ring finger of her right hand. “ _To always love you and to one day marry you, to have you by my side in this life and the next._ ” He smiled, kissing her affectionately.

But, sadly a month later, Walter had married Helena off to Evan Shaw, killing William and Helena's dreams of marrying each other. It didn't completely stop them from being together though, even with Helena doing her best to make do with being married to Evan, it wasn't a year, when he stopped coming to her bed, seeking the company of _ladies of the night_. So, She and William began seeing each other every chance they got and could, his love was Helena's only solace and sanity in a loveless marriage.

The vision changed again, to Helena pulling the ring over her finger and kissing the ruby, mumbling something under her breath before hiding it away. She dropped onto the middle of the floor, pressing her palms flat to the damp stone and threw her head back. Her eyes rolled back into her head, only showing the whites and red veins of her eyes showing as she chanted in Latin. Dark shadows formed a ring around her as she did, hurried footsteps coming down the hallway outside her cell echoing back to her, with raised voices. But, when they reached Helena's cell...

She was gone.

You gasped as Helena removed her hand from your cheek, red from the chill of her hand against your skin. Panting and trying to catch your breath, you waved Henry off. “I'm fine.” You gulped, rubbing the chill from your cheek. “I'm fine, Henry.” You sighed, looking up at Helena, who was pointing to a brick in the wall by your head. “What?” You snapped at her, drained.

“ _Ruby Red._ ” She hissed back, narrowing her eyes at you.

Standing up, you turned towards the wall and touched the brick, feeling how loose it was, and wedged your fingertips in the broken mortar, using your nails to grasp it and wiggled it free. “It's a false brick.” You said, shocked to turn the brick around and find a hollow opening. “Oh my god.” You huffed, a dirty and tarnished ruby ring slipped out; Henry's quick reflects catching it in his palm.

“It's the ring he gave her.” You blinked. “It's still here, after all this time.” You smiled at Henry.

“William gave this to her?” He asked, looking down at it.

“Yes, it was a promise ring.” You explained to him. “They wanted to marry, but my great-grandfather, Walter, arranged her to marry Evan. So, it never happened.”

“They really wanted to be together.” Henry sighed, rubbing his thumb over the loop of the ring.

“They did.” You nodded, glancing at Helena. “And, in a way, they did get to be together, in more than one way.” You said, looking back at Henry. “Almost two-hundred and fifty years and countless generations, later our families finally found the link to each other they had been looking for.”

Henry grinned at you, following your train of thought. “ _In us._ ” He blushed, brushing an escaped curl out of your face.

“Here.” You said, taking the ring from Henry's palm and holding it out to Helena. “He never stopped loving you, Helena. Let me prove it to you, touch it, and we'll take you to him.” You smiled back at Henry.

“ _How_ are we going to do that?” Henry asked, looking at you sheepishly.

“Ghosts can possess things.” You told him.

“Don't you dare let her possess you.” Henry snapped, exasperated.

You laughed and pat him on the cheek. “Relax, Puppy, I'm not. The ring works just as well.” You assured him, amused.

Henry looked at the ring and blinked several times, watching the Ruby glow, like the ember of a fire, for a moment, then dim. You closed your hand around it as footsteps came down the hallway, and quickly replaced the false brick in its place.

“I can not allow you to stay any longer.” The man from earlier said, appearing in the doorway.

“That's quite all right.” Henry smiled, composing himself and closing his hand around yours, leading you out of the cell. “Thank you so much, you were a tremendous help.”

“Happy to be of service.” He smiled back, even though he was utterly clueless on what he helped with.

Heading back to Helena's and William's graves at St. Leonard's, you knelt down between the plots and opened your hand holding the ring. “He buried you beside him, so you would always be at each other's sides in this life, _and the next_.” You said, pushing your thumb into the grass and soil between the graves and dropping the ring into the hole it left behind. “You can finally be together, like you always wanted to be.” You told her, covering it up and glancing at your own rings, the diamond of your wedding ring fit perfectly in the gap between the two heart-shaped diamonds of your engagement ring, interlinking your heart with Henry's.

You stood up beside Henry, taking his hand in yours and squeezed, overwhelmed by the moment. Helena hovering above her grave and watched as the ghost of William slowly solidified before you, over his own grave. The two spirits faced each other and smiled, reaching out to touch the tips of their fingers together. You smiled at them, then started, seeing the shadows of twelve others appear behind them and slowly became recognizable as the twelve witches of Pendle; Alice Nutter, Jane Bulcock, Katherine Hewitt, Anne Whittle, Ann Redfearn, Elizabeth Device, her daughter, Alison Device, Isobel Robey, Margaret Pearson, Alice Grey, Jennet Preston and Elizabeth Southerns.

Henry couldn't see them, but he felt the temperature around you and him change and grow cold against the warm day.

Helena looked away from William and to her sisters. “ _Rest now, sisters. Your time has come to do so._ ” She told them.

The twelve women looked at each other, then at you and Henry, at your linked hands, and wavered, their spirit forms losing definition as they started to lose their grip on the physical world, on their vengeance and reason for still being bound to the Earth around them. Henry's mouth dropped open seeing the twelve bright orbs of light appear suddenly.

“What--”

“They're finding their peace.” You explained to him, understanding what he was going to ask.

Helena floated over to Henry, one of her hands still clutching William's, and touched his cheek, making him shiver at the cold touch and see her ghostly face. “ _I free you._ ” She whispered to him.

“Thank you.” He gulped, blinked at her and felt a weight he never noticed was there before, lift from his shoulders and soul.

– –

You sat in the sitting room, enjoying tea time, while Henry was out at the office. It had been a week since the pair of you figured out how to break the curse and other than the usual spirit, you hadn't seen a hint of Helena and neither you or Henry had nightmares any more, supposing she had crossed over with the others. You sipped your tea and nibbled at your slice of hazelnut tea cake with moscato pears, that Abby had made that morning, when you heard a god awful wail, making you jerk with surprise and spill some of your tea onto the skirt of your dress.

“Abby?”

You called, setting your teacup and copy of the _Little Dorrit_ done on the table in front of you. “Albert?” You stood up, using your silk napkin to dab at your wet skirt; but didn't receive a reply from either of them. “Maggie?” You yelled out, becoming nervous, but still received no answer, and sighed. “Kal, I hope you didn't get into the pantry again!” You said, going into the foyer and heading for the kitchen; expecting to find the fluffy Akita trying to look innocent with sticky marmalade on his snout and flour dusting his fur, for the _third_ time in two weeks.

“Kal?” You squeaked, frightened, finding the kitchen empty.

The wail issued again, you spun around to the open kitchen doorway, your heart launched into your throat and your stomach giving way. “Papa.” You choked and swallowed, seeing the ghost of your father floating in the foyer.

“ _What a cruel world death is, when life's riches can not pay your way into heaven or out of hell._ ” He moaned, looking greatly pained. “ _Or right one's living regrets._ ”

“Yes, I know, you've said this before, Papa. Tell me something new, tell me who your killer is.” You begged him, daring to move closer to him. “Please, let me help you find peace.” You pleaded with him, tears welling up in your eyes.

“ _What a world, not even compassion of those you love can not free your bonds of life and death._ ”

You mewled, at a loss, pressing your hands to your face and broke down. As you sobbed another sound filled the room with your father's laments and moans, pulling your hands from your dripping face you saw Helena, standing on the other side of you. “Why are you here, Helena? You should have crossed over.” You sniffled, even more confused.

“ _One last unfinished business._ ” She replied, still making the strange noise and your face grew wide with shock.

“Oh, good god.” You gasped and flew out of the house. “Brandon!” You screamed, running into the stables.

“Madam?” Brandon answered, coming out of one of the stalls. “What is it?”

“Get the carriage ready!” You told him, out of breath. “This instant, we must go to Henry, with all due haste.” You explained, frantic.

“Of course, Madam.” He nodded and got to it. “Are you well?” He asked, as he hitched the horses to the carriage, concerned for you.

“I don't know yet, Brandon.” You replied, pacing up and down the walk out front of the house. “I really don't. But, what I do know, I hope to all there is in the world, it's not true.”

Brandon readied the carriage as quickly as he could for you and rushed into town, heading straight for the Cavill Enterprises office building. You barely waited for Brandon to pull the horses to a stop or open the door for you, before you were bundling up your heavy skirts and rushing inside the building and up to the floor Henry's office was situated.

“Hello, Ms.” the Secretary greeted you with a warm smile. “Can I help you?”

“Yes,” You huffed, out of breath after rushing up four flights of stairs. “I'm Mr. Cavill's wife--”

“Oh, my dearest apologies, Madam, I didn't know.” The young man's face managed to somehow blush and blanch at the same time. “I am so sorry, I'm new here. I only started yester--”

“It's quite all right, I've only been to his office once before.” You assured the poor boy, feeling bad for scaring him so, you had only been to Henry's office one other time, and that was to attend a company event. “But, I need to see Hen—Mr. Cavill, right this minute, it can not wait.” You rushed out as he started to open his mouth. “Please.” You added softly.

“Uh..” the Secretary glanced between you and the door to Henry's office several times, his mouth hanging open. “Yes, of course. I think he's just doing some paperwork.” He said, standing up and moved around his desk, gently tapping on Henry's door, before opening a crack at Henry's bid for him to enter. “Um, Mr. Cavill, Sir.” He gulped, breaking out in a sweat, like he expected Henry to angrily fire him at that moment.

“It's, um, _Mrs._ Cavill to see you.”

“Y/n?” Henry's confused voice called back. “Let her in.”

He got up from his desk as the boy pushed the door open the rest of the way, and moved for you to go in. “Y/n, what is it? What's wrong?” He asked, closing the door behind you as he saw your flushed face and heard you still trying to catch your breath. “Come, sit down.” He gently took you by the elbow and guided you to a chair in front of his desk and fetched you a glass of water from a pitcher on a side table.

“Calm down and catch your breath, then tell me what this is all about.” He told you, leaning back against the edge of his desk, watching over you with patient worry.

“We need to go back to London, as soon as possible.” You told him, finishing your glass of water and breathing again.

Henry shook his head, not understanding. “Why, love?” He inquired, licking his lips and tilting his head at you, his expression so soft.

You opened your mouth to tell him, but your throat closed tightly around a sharp and cold knot of restrained tears. You didn't want it to be true, it couldn't be true! How could they do this? Why! Why would they do this! The pent-up horror and agony at the thought broke free and you burst into hiccuping sobs, your shoulders shaking and rocking yourself back and forth. Henry's heart clinched and he dropped to his knees before you, reaching out to pull you to the edge of your seat and cradle your head against his shoulder and rubbed your back, shushing and rocking with you. The door opened and the secretary popped his head inside the room, but Henry gave him an angry look, in full protective mode of you, and pointed a hard finger at him, a hint to get lost, which the boy did in all haste.

“Come, love.” Henry cooed at you, taking out his pocket handkerchief and wiping at your flowing tears and nose, caressing your hair off your flushed face. “Take deep breaths with me, y/n.” He said, taking a slow and deep breath in, nodding his head as you did the same, and let it out again. “That's better.” He smiled, tenderly, at you and got up to pour you another glass of water.

“Now, tell me, what makes you so upset and frantic?” He asked, kneeling at your feet again. “Why is it so imperative we go to London so quickly?”

You took several deep breaths and gulped down more of your water. “I--” You sighed, trying hard to keep yourself together. “I know _who_ killed my father.” You choked out, clamping your teeth down on your bottom lip to stop the new stream of tears, threatening to fall, at bay.

Henry's mouth dropped open. “How?” He asked, eyes the size of serving plates.

“He came to me, at home.”

“He showed up at Lily Hill?” Henry coughed, shocked.

“As did Helena.”

“I thought she crossed over?” He blinked at you.

“As did I, but it seems not.” You mewled, twisting Henry's damp handkerchief in your trembling hands. “But, they, in no uncertain terms, revealed to me who did it.”

“Who was it?” He asked, he had been tormented over the mystery of your father's murder as you had been, Ulysses had become a second father to him.

You reached out and clutched Henry's hands and looked him in the eyes. “I don't want to say, until I am certain they're right. But, I doubt don't they are. It's purely wishful thinking on my part.” You sighed, chewing on your quivering lip. “Let us go to London and face them, and find out for truly certain.”

“All right.” Henry nodded, tucking a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. “We'll go right away.” He said, standing up and strode over to his office door. “Mr. Solo.” He called out to his secretary.

“Sir.” The boy squeaked, stumbling up to his feet.

“Hold all my appointments for today and likely tomorrow as well.” He told him, calmly. “I have very urgent business in London, that can not be ignored.”

“Yes, sir!” Solo nodded, like a broken bobble-head. “Right away, sir.”

“Thank you, Mr. Solo.” Henry nodded back and returned to you. “Come, my love.” He said, softly, taking your hands and pulling you up onto your feet, pressing an affectionate kiss to your forehead. “We'll go straight to the station and set out for London on the earliest train.” He assured you, supporting you out of his office and back down the several sets of stairs.

“Mr. Brandon, the train station, please.” He told the driver, handing you into the carriage and followed after you, wrapping a comforting and protective arm around your still trembling shoulders.

– –

The ride to the train station was quiet and traveling to London was even quieter, you just couldn't find your voice, overwhelmed and consumed by your grief and depression over the realization of who the murderer of your father was. Henry gave and offered all the support for you he could, the wish for the truth gnawing on him the whole time, but he didn't press you; knowing he would find out the truth soon enough.

Finding a carriage as soon as you were out of the station, you gave the driver the address and climbed inside with Henry, gripping his hand in both of yours, trying to use his touch and presence as your anchor and calm; he rubbed the top of your hand with his thumb and would occasionally kiss your cheek and temple.

It was a short ride to the residence of the killer, you took a few calming breaths as you stood at the bottom of the steps leading to the front door of the house, before you were able to muster the will to move up them, raising your trembling fist and knocking. The door opened and the servant glanced at Henry, then instantly beamed at you.

“Ms. Y/n!” They grinned, pleased to see you. “How good to see you! How are you?” They asked.

“To be determined.” You replied, gulping thickly.

“Please, come in.” They bid you both, stepping aside. “Come right this way, I'll have some tea brought in, while I announce your arrival.”

“Thank you.” Henry smiled at the servant, ushering you to a love seat and sat beside you. “Are you all right?” He asked, pointlessly.

“I will be, if it isn't true.” You replied, staring down at your hands, folded in your lap.

Another servant served you and Henry the tea and some raspberry scones, drizzled with honey. You barely sipped your tea and didn't touch the scones, your stomach far too upset to hold much of anything down. It was several minutes, before you and Henry heard the footsteps in the hallway outside the sitting room and the door opened again, two people stepping inside and smiled at you and Henry.

Henry's mouth dropped open, in shock.

“Y/n, Henry!” Grace smiled at you both and swept over to you, but stopped halfway, seeing the look in your face and the utter shock on Henry's, registering in her mind. “What is it?” She frowned, blinking between you both.

“Something, I pray with my entire soul, is wrong.” You whimpered at her, blinking several times as your eyes burned with fresh tears.

“What are you talking about, y/n?” She asked, blinking back at you.

“Is there a problem, y/n?” Joel asked, completely lost.

“Perhaps the both of you should sit down.” You suggested, licking your lips.

Grace's eyes never left yours as she moved to sit on the love seat opposite of you and Henry, Joel taking up the space beside her. “Would you like to tell me what's going on, y/n?” She asked you, as she shakily poured herself a cup of tea; feeling she was going to need it.

“I saw my father again.” You told her, quietly, eyes steeled and carefully watching her face.

“He still hasn't,” She gulped and licked her lips. “crossed over?” She asked.

“No, he's stuck here until his _murderer_ is caught.” You replied, carefully.

“Di-Did he _tell_ you, who did it?” Grace asked, biting her lip.

“He's been trying too.” You answered. “But, Helena did, though.” You added, heart pounding in your throat.

“Do you _know_ what they're talking about?” Henry asked Joel.

“About y/n's ability to see the dead?” Joel elaborated, bluntly, but politely.

“Yes.” Henry nodded.

“I do.” He nodded back.

“Both of them showed up in Lily Hill and my father was trying to tell me who did it, but only repeated himself. Helena helped him out by humming a very specific song, a song that _you_ would sing to me, when I was upset. That's when, what my father told me, the night of his funeral, made sense. _'Death is such a far fall from Grace, no money can buy you into heaven, or out of hell.'_ ” You explained to her.

“Tell me, I misunderstood them.” You begged her, eyes shining.

Grace was quiet and sipped her tea, her hands shaking as she held the teacup, when her tea was empty, she refilled it and looked across to you, her eyes shining back at yours. “They are not.” She said, very quietly.

Your eyes fell shut and silent tears slipped down your flushed cheeks, utterly crushed and devastated. Henry frowned at you, sympathetically squeezing your knee and wrapping an arm around you, just as heartbroken that the woman that was more a mother to you than Matilda ever was, and the sister you had always wished for, admitted to having a part in the death of your father.

“Why?” You choked, opening your red eyes at her. “Why, Grace?” You mewled, feeling lightheaded.

“We didn't do it, to hurt you, y/n.” Joel chimed in.

“You knew?” You hiccuped, frowning at him.

“I did, I had a hand in helping.” He nodded, biting the inside of his lip.

“Oh god.” You sighed, shaking your head and shrinking into your seat.

“There's several reasons it happened.” Grace told you, wishing so much to take your hands in hers and have you believe her. “The years of pent-up abuse they not only forced you to endure, but as well as myself. Knowing that your mother intended to try to change your father's mind about allowing that vile brute Elias to marry you, instead of Henry, and the ultimate reason why I stopped being your nanny.”

“And what reason is that?” You asked, trying to keep yourself together.

Grace sighed and reached for Joel's hand, squeezing it for reassurance. “Your father and I...” She gulped, the words sticking in her throat. “had relations.”

Your mouth dropped open. “My father had an affair with you?” You squeaked, gobsmacked.

“Yes.” She nodded, ashamed of herself. “It was in the last year of my employment as your nanny. Your father took a strong liking to me, and the foolish girl I was, took a fancy to him as well. We only shared a bed a handful of times in that year, but, because of one of those times, I became with child.”

Your mouth fell open even farther.

“Those months I was away from you, _nursing a sick relative_ , I was really living in an apartment in London, your father had leased for me during my confinement and the birth of the baby.” She explained to you and Henry. “I had a little girl, your half-sister, Amelia.”

“Where is she?” You blurted out, shaking your head at her.

Grace sighed and sniffled. “Ulysses had her put up for adoption a week after her birth.” She told you, sadly. “It was a few months later that Joel and I met and started a courtship.”

“We decided on a short courtship and to marry as soon as possible, so Grace wouldn't have to deal with the abuse, especially since Matilda found out about the baby, and the pain she felt seeing Ulysses and be reminded of the child she didn't get to keep.” Joel added in, rubbing Grace's back.

“I didn't tell Joel about the baby until a month before your father died.”

“I told her it didn't matter to me that she had a child, out of wedlock or otherwise.” He explained. “That, if we could find the little girl, we could perhaps adopt her and raise her here, with us.”

“But, your father refused to tell me what adoption agency or family he gave her up too, and told me he never would. That if I, or Joel, or anyone for that matter, asked after her again, he would make their lives a living hell, that he had the money and influence to make them disappear. To make Amelia disappear.” She dabbed at her nose with a handkerchief. “I never doubted his words. But, I returned to him, the week before his death, and begged him one last time to relent and tell me where she was. He laughed and asked me, how much money it would take to keep me silent. Out of anger and passions, I slapped him across the face and told him, 'there wasn't enough money to buy him into heaven, or out of hell'. In turn, he told me that I would pay for my slight against him and so would Joel's practice as a doctor.”

“Grace came back home, incredibly distraught over the situation.” Joel said, frowning at his wife. “She couldn't take it any longer and we came to the conclusion to--”

“Murder him.” Henry cut in.

“Yes.” Grace nodded, biting her quivering lip.

“Which one of you did it?” You asked, looking between them.

Joel swallowed, looking from you to Henry and his wife. “Neither of us.” He sighed.

“In my profession, I meet and tended to people of all walks of life, from the very dirt poor to even royalty. One of my patients, a Leon Marshall, was rather low on the social ladder and had quite the disreputable reputation, as a dishonorable discharge from the royal military and was spent to prison for a variety of offenses. He suffered from an old war wound that festered every so often, and I would tend to it. I know, because he never made any pains to keep to himself, that he would rough people up, if paid the right amount.”

“I sought him out for the deed and he agreed to do it. He also agreed that no amount of money could get a man into heaven or out of hell. But, the right amount could send a man on his death's journey to whichever he is destiny for. I paid him three thousand pounds, and he contacted your father's office to schedule a false meeting, for a fictional business, in his hotel room at Southampton, and that's where it took place.” He told you.

“We, honestly, didn't wish him dead, just to make a point, perhaps scare him into giving up the information on Amelia. But, when your father saw him for who he was and he wasn't afraid. He mocked Mr. Marshall on a number of things, and Marshall grew angered. Mr. Marshall drew a knife and stabbed him several times, mocking your father back, asking him, if he thought, he had enough money to buy his way into heaven or out of hell.”

“Then, ran.”

“Where is this man now?” Henry asked, moving to the edge of his seat.

“Currently, he is incarcerated for the murder of a prostitute, that tried robbing him.” Joel sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“He needs to be tried for Ulysses's death.” Henry said, impassioned.

“But, if he's outed as the murderer of my father, the chances of him outing Grace and Joel, or at least ruining them, is very high.” You said, sounding and feeling like a zombie.

Henry turned his head to look at you, licking his lips and knowing you were right. But, they were as much to blame for it, as Marshall was, and to a degree, Ulysses was as well. He sighed and rested back against the couch and scrubbed both of his palms over his tired face. All four of you were between a rock and a hard place, and had no idea what to do. The person you trusted your entire life and depended on for so long had helped in the killing of your father, no matter how vile and selfish he was. The war between going straight to the authorities to divulge everything you knew on the matter and just wanting to forget that you even knew and go back to life before you found out it was Grace and Joel, made you sickeningly exhausted and spent.

What were you going to do?

If you did go to the authorities, you would struggle to live with the thought of what they would do to Grace and Joel, as punishment.

If you didn't and tried living with it, you didn't know if you could live with that either. Especially, if it meant your father would never find peace and would continue to haunt you and Henry at Lily Hill Manor.

Your trust and faith in Grace was shaken and cracked, but you still loved her.

“We could just—give ourselves—up.” Grace gulped, glancing at Joel, she had struggled living with the knowledge and truth of the matter herself, especially seeing how it affected you.

“I can't do this.” You gasped, standing up and rushing out of the room.

“Y/n!” Henry called after you, standing up.

“Let her clear her head, Mr. Cavill.” Grace said, staring through the open doorway. “She'll be all right, after a bit of fresh air and a walk, she always is.”

Henry looked at the couple and lifted a brow at them. “If you wanted to find your Amelia, so badly, why didn't you just ask Thaddeus or hire a private investigator?” He asked, his hands flexing at his side.

“Crime is common. Logic is rare, Mr. Cavill.” Joel replied, ashamed of himself and his actions in the matter.

“Then, the devil’s due a soul, I’d say.” Henry replied.

You stormed out of the house, gasping for air, your lungs and chest tight with anxiety and heartbreak, eyes nearly blinded by fresh tears. You had no idea where you were going, or even where you were after Grace and Joel's home and grounds disappeared behind you, but you didn't even care. You needed to get away, far away, and get a hold of yourself again. The neighborhood of expensive homes and immaculate grounds melted away into the hustle and bustle of downtown London. You stopped and turned to stare at your reflection in a shop window, wiping at your eyes and taking deep breaths.

“Well, well, well.” A voice behind you chuckled, in sinister amusement. “Look who it is.”

You looked up at the reflection in the window, as he stood behind you, his arms crossed smugly over his chest. You groaned and rolled your eyes at him. “Hello, Elias.” You said, turning around.

“Trouble in paradise already, _Mrs. Cavill_?” He asked, smirking at you.

“Not at all.” You replied, rolling your eyes at him.

“Doesn't look that way to me.” He chuckled again.

“It is better to learn wisdom late, than never to learn it at all.” You answered him, with a cold stare. “But, in your case, you are incapable of either.”

“I see your _husband_ hasn't curbed that harlot's tongue of yours, yet.” Elias hissed at you.

“ _My_ husband likes my tongue.” You smirked back, scornfully.

“My dearest Lias?” Another familiar voice called with the ding of a shop bell. “Oh, _niece_.” Bella huffed, sticking her nose up at you.

“Aunt Bella.” You nodded your head and rolled your eyes back at her.

“There you are, my love.” Henry's voice suddenly came, his arm wrapping around your waist. “Enjoying your window shopping?” He asked, eyeballing Bella and Elias.

“I was.” You replied, leaning against his strong body. “Then, I was interrupted.”

“Charming to see you again, Cavill.” Elias sneered, resting his hand on the small of Bella's back.

“And you, Wells.” Henry hissed, observing the pair of them. “Married, I see.”

“Yes.” Bella nodded, proudly, flashing the fat emerald ring at you and Henry. “Two months ago, we would have invited--”

“We wouldn't have cared to go.” You told her, your blood boiling. “Even, if you had actually thought about us, let alone the thought of sending an invitation.” You added, quite coldly. “How is Matilda?” You asked her.

“She's quite well, she's repaired to her Suffolk home, her physician believes the sea air would be beneficial for her health.” She told you, tightly.

“Good.” You nodded your head once, then looked up to Henry. “Let's go, love. My pleasure for window shopping has been _greatly_ diminished.”

“That's a shame.” Henry tutted and turned away with you, leaving Bella and Elias staring after you both, shocked. “I'm so sorry, y/n.” He whispered, when you left the two behind. “I wish I knew what to say, to make it all go away.” He told you, leading you to a small bench. “I do--” He sighed and rubbed the side of his face. “I do hope that you won't be cross with me.”

“For what?” You frowned at him.

“I--” He sighed again, licking his lips and picking at his nails. “I, anonymously, sent a telegram to the authorities, on the matter of your father's death and Mr. Marshall's involvement in it. I re-framed from naming, or even hinting at, Joel and Grace's involvement in the matter.” He confessed to you. “Perhaps, Mr. Marshall will take his due for killing your father, and not bring them up in the ensuing investigation into the matter.”

“Henry.” You sighed, pressing your lips together, and sniffling hard.

“I know, you would have struggled, and do struggle, with what to do and how to act in the matter. You are far closer to Grace and Joel than I am, the same goes for your father.”

“He considered you a son.” You whispered softly.

“I know he did.” Henry replied, just as softly. “But, even still, you are far closer and more sensitive in the matter.” He ran his hand through his wind-blown curls, pushing them off his forehead. “As much as I care for your father's peace, your peace and well-being is by far more important and greater to me. So, if that means, I have to shoulder the heavier weight of whatever happens next, so you do not. Then, I will greatly shoulder it.” He told you, sincerely.

“I can bear pain myself.” Henry said softly, and took your hand in his. “But, I could not bear yours, y/n. That would take more strength than I have.”

You took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh, wrapping your arm around his. “I know, Henry.” You whispered to him, kissing his cheek. “Thank you.”

“Of course, my sweet.” He whispered back, kissing the top of your head and gently patting your leg.

“Can you believe Elias and Bella married.” You laughed, suddenly finding it hilarious.

“Two people could not be so fatefully meant for each other.” Henry laughed back, shaking his head at the thought. “Both of them are near evil incarnate. Lord have the mercy for any children they have.”

“The sole opposite of us.” You chuckled, turning your head to kiss his shoulder.

“Thank God for that.” Henry snorted.

– –

You and Henry returned to Lily Hill Manor the next day, too exhausted for the return train home. So, you stayed in a hotel, the same one and very room, you shared on your wedding night. So much had changed between then and now, but the one thing that was still the same, if not stronger, was the love you and Henry shared for each other, the bond that connected you and the life you had created together.

A month after your return, Thaddeus came to visit you both; with news of the investigation.

The investigation was started after Henry's carefully sent anonymous note about Leon Marshall's hand in your father's death. Marshall had tried to implicate Joel and Grace in his murder, but the only connection found between them, was Grace's employment as your nanny and Joel's tending to the festering wound Marshall was prone to suffer in his left leg, from a bullet he sustained in war. It seemed that Joel was more careful about employing the ruffian to kill your father than any of you thought, and you all, all four of you, kept the secret.

You did however ask Thaddeus about the child Grace and your father bore together. His flush almost immediately at the mention of your little sister, giving away his knowledge of her, but confessed he had no idea where she would be, Ulysses had dealt with the matter on his own, not trusting anyone else with it; trusting no one to keep the secret. But, with Henry's help, Thaddeus promised to help you and Grace in finding her, anyway they could.

It took almost a year of private investigators, sleepless nights, paper trails, combing all the papers your father had in his office and possession. But, Thaddeus finally found the family your father had given your half-sister too.

It was a well-off family, at least he had done her that justice and not suffered her to some poor station because of the unfortunate circumstance of her birth. She had just celebrated her twelfth birthday, now a year older than you were, when she was born into this world. The family granted you and Grace permission to meet her and it was a good day. Grace never once stopped crying for finally seeing the daughter she never stopped loving or wanting, and you found another precious and good link in the world.

It was agreed on, that Amelia wouldn't be told about Grace being her mother and you, her sister, until at least her sixteenth birthday, when she would hopefully be old enough to understand. But, You and Grace would always be more than welcome in seeing her, whenever you wished it.

__

– A Year Later –

“All right, Kal.” Henry called, coming into the bedroom, finding Kal in bed with you. “You're in my spot, move.” He said, patting the Akita on the back to make his point.

Kal huffed and moved to the foot of the bed, resting his head on your shin. You laughed as Henry crawled into bed with you, kissing your cheek and lips before laying down on his stomach and gently rested his ear on your stomach.

“Hello, Little one.” He whispered softly to the swell of your belly and chuckled, feeling the teeny life inside it kick against his cheek. “Oh. you're growing so strong in your mummy's tummy.” He grinned, like a smitten schoolboy, rubbing the bottom curve of your stomach with his palm; pressing it where he felt the baby kick actively.

“Just a few more weeks, and they'll be out here with us, Puppy.” You cooed at Henry, rubbing his curls with your palm and fingers, part of your mind imagining those precious and beautiful chocolate curls on the head of your and Henry's babe.

Henry turned his head, kissing your belly just above your popped out belly button. “And you'll look just like your mum.” He whispered, his supple lips tickling your bare skin.

“Or your father.” You chuckled at him, ghosting the tips of your fingers over the nap of his neck.

He looked up at you and grinned, he was happy either way. He was finally getting all of the things he had dreamed of for so long. A beautiful, loving and intelligent wife and a child he created with you, there was nothing more in life he could ever want. Well, maybe a few more feet pitter pattering up and down the halls.

But, that would all come in due time, and he was in no rush, neither were you.

Two weeks later, on a beautiful and sunny day, you gave birth to your and Henry's daughter and amply named her, Lily Helena Cavill. Three years after Lily was born, you gave birth to your and Henry's second child, a son; Henry William Cavill Jr. You would also go on to have two more children with Henry, both of you wanting a large family, and you not wanting your children to know the loneliness of what being an only child was like. You had another boy, Eric Ulysses; it was your father that brought you and Henry together after all, and another girl, Daisy Grace.

Lily Hill Manor was no longer filled with the wails and sadness of ghosts, but the laughter and happiness of four happy, healthy, strong, completely loved and well-rounded children, and Kal's barks as he played with his two-legged siblings. You still saw the occasional spirit and sent them on their way, but you and Henry reveled at the joy of how everything finally came together, in peace and harmony at _Cavill Manor_.


End file.
